


debts

by zimtlein



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters: Sword & Shield | Pokemon Sword & Shield Versions
Genre: Character Study, Developing Relationship, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Headcanon, Mild Sexual Content, Minor Character Death, Pre-Canon, Spoilers, Time Skips, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:20:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22976041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zimtlein/pseuds/zimtlein
Summary: His very first gift to her is a lipstick in bright red.His very last gift is vanishing from her life, forever.
Relationships: Olive | Oleana & Rose | Chairman Rose, Olive | Oleana/Rose | Chairman Rose
Comments: 28
Kudos: 34





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a one-shot exploring Oleana's character, and then it got out of hand and became a whole lore-explaining thing. Woops. Anyway, it was a real challenge to work with both Oleana and Rose's characters. I think I will forever find them absolutely fascinating. Especially Rose, because his personality reminds me of a lot of men I've met over the years, and I think I will never be able to tell whether they are good persons or not. (Or if this question even matters.)
> 
> I hope you enjoy it!

The store is crowded in the afternoon. Oleana needed three weeks to find the busiest time of day. Four o’clock. Thursdays are favorable, because the new girl is constantly with another employee, and the cashier doesn’t have the time to overlook the whole store.

She keeps pushing her chewing gum from left to right and starts strolling through the gangway.

Hard to admit, but expensive eyeshadow really is the most convenient one. The palette from three months ago is still not used up. It is hidden away underneath a pile of dirty clothes she only keeps for this reason, and she always waits for the other girls to leave the room before using it.

A quick look. No one is watching her. She would have felt eyes on her anyway, she thinks. She chose her most mundane, but neat outfit. A fashionable jacket with deep pockets she nicked from one of her flatmates. She only keeps one hand tucked in there. Her left is hanging by her side, taking hold of a tube of lipstick. She puts it back. Slowly and casually. There are people next to her, and behind her, and she picks a dark red. No inspecting this time. She strides on, the lipstick vanishing into her pocket.

Her chewing gum tastes stale. She looks at mascaras, screws one of them open. Reads labels. Then she turns to the entrance again. She makes sure to keep looking at products she has no interest in. One at a time. That’s what she learned from watching others making mistakes. Never be hasty, and always keep a straight face.

Someone grabs her arm.

No need to panic, she tells herself and turns around. Her pounding heart calms down when she sees a man smiling at her. Some git that is way too old for her. Somehow, his face seems familiar, but she can’t quite put her finger on it. Before she can snort and whirl around on her heels, his words reach her ears.

“You didn’t pay for that lipstick.”

Her hands turn icy. She keeps chewing her gum. “No idea what you’re talking ’bout.”

The man nods as if never having anticipated another answer. “Danielle, dear,” he calls out into the crowd. “Would you be so kind?”

Bloody fuck. She can’t leg it. She lives in this city, and sooner or later, they would have found her out. She can only keep her emotions at bay as she is waiting. That git is a strange one, calling out for someone as if he owns the place. Stupid posh ponce, she realizes, with his suit and his perfectly kept hair.

“This is a misunderstanding,” she says, her voice as calm as possible.

He doesn’t respond. Just looks at her out of equally calm eyes.

For whatever reason, his call is heard, and an older woman with red hair approaches them on quick feet, winding herself through the mass of people. “’lo there, sweetheart,” she says then, smiling at the man with shimmering eyes. Fucking brownnoser. “How can I help you?”

“Our beauty here,” he says, then proceeds to put a hand on Oleana’s shoulder, “is in need of a lipstick which will fit her complexion. Any recommendations?”

Oleana feels frozen in place. She doesn’t let it show. The lipstick is still in her pocket. Her stomach churning, she pushes her shoulder back until he understands the cue and lets go of her.

“Oh, what a doll,” the woman says. Oleana holds herself back from giving her the two-fingered salute. Nothing about her resembles a doll. Not the messily colored hair, not the lack of appropriate earrings, not even the way she holds herself. “Don’t you worry for a second, darling. I’ve got just the color for you, with your gorgeous green eyes and that pale skin of yours.”

The woman disappears. Oleana is about to do the same, ignoring the man next to her, but before she can make a step, his hand already reaches into her pocket. If she hadn’t been in this rather compromising situation, she would have slapped him right across the face. As it stands, she can only watch as he pulls the lipstick out. He puts two fingers to his chin, inspecting the lipstick from every angle.

“Not your color,” he determines.

“If you’re fucking with me right now,” she says, voice even, “you can bugger right off.”

“My. You really don’t like to hold back, do you?”

Before she can respond, the woman is back at their side, presenting a bright red lip stick. She’d rather eat that stick of red than smear it all over her lips.

Also, she can’t afford that brand in her dreams.

“The newest fashion trend,” the woman explains, more so to the man than to Oleana herself. “Blonde hair, bright red lipstick. She’ll look like a proper doll, that darling.”

“I like it.” He smiles at her then, crinkles forming around his eyes. “What do you think, dear?”

She grits her teeth. There is nothing holding her back from leaving now. If there were any complaints, she could easily deny them, seeing as that lipstick she wanted is no longer in her possession.

He laughs. “Cold as ever. She does like it, though.” The man gives the employee – Danielle, Oleana remembers – a credit card. Bloody platinum, she realizes. But she still has her dignity left, and the sight only leaves her snorting internally. “Add a bottle of Chanel Nº 5, will you? Largest one you have.”

“Certainly! I can recommend a suitable lip liner for the lady, if you’d like.”

He waves his hand. “Danielle, you are too good a saleslady. Add it in, please.”

Oleana is still chewing her gum, her last resort to not panic on the spot. She watches Danielle disappear, then reappear with a bag, carrying products Oleana wouldn’t ever be able to afford with a salary such as hers. The bag is being handed to her, and she stares at it, gobsmacked.

She finds her voice again as they leave the store. With a snort, she pushes the bag against the man’s chest. “I don’t need this.”

“It’s for you,” he tells her.

“Fuck off. I’m not taking pity presents from you.”

He smiles warmly, and she is resisting the urge to slap that expression off his face.

“If you think,” she adds, “that I’ll let you shag me just ’cause you showed some generosity I never asked for, you can stick that bloody lipstick right up your arse.”

He is still smiling. She is still chewing her gum. Softly, he pushes her hand down again, not taking the bag from her.

“I’m not trying to woo you.”

“You better fucking don’t.” She wrinkles her nose. “I’m not going to thank you either.”

“Never expected as much.”

She keeps her nose wrinkled. She doesn’t even know his name, and she doesn’t want to know. Tossing her hair back, she turns around and leaves him standing on the spot. Only after making sure she is out of his field of vision, she leans against a wall in a dark alley and pulls out the lipstick.

Bright red. She takes a sniff. She never knew lipsticks could smell like honey. And that perfume – she heard of it in movies, and it’s almost embarrassing how eagerly she removes the plastic, screws the bottle open, and sprays it onto her wrist.

She lets the scent set, then brings her wrist closer to her nose.

It smells noble. Nobler than she ever will be.

She stares at the bottle. It’s huge. She always buys the cheap ones from drug stores, and in a moment of irrational panic, she wonders how she will hide this from her flatmates.

She remembers why that man looked familiar to her when he orders an espresso, a piece of Sacher cake, and an extra portion of whipped cream.

He’s a regular. Probably explains why he helped her, then. Maybe a stalker having watched her for months. It seems to be the most logical conclusion, because out of the hundredths of cafés in Motostoke, most of them not half as run-down as this place, he chose this one.

All of her colleagues seem terribly busy, and Oleana bites down her doubts. Even though he smiled at her, he didn’t make any other remark. He could have forgotten her. Easy as that. Her hopes are destroyed when she lets the tray sink to his table and puts the cup of coffee in front of him.

“As I thought. That lipstick looks stunning on you.”

She almost drops the cake. Keeping a straight face, she puts it down. Doesn’t look the man in the eye. Doesn’t answer either. It’s a bit cold in the outside area. He still has his coat on, and she is trying to not shiver in her short skirt.

“That perfume, too. A lovely scent for a lovely lady.”

She lets the tray meet the table in a vertical position, her hands propped on it. “If you need to bother me, do it outside my working hours.”

She risks a look at him. A well-kept beard, thick curly hair, kind eyes. He isn’t too old. At least not old enough to be called a sugar daddy. The fact that she even remotely thinks about such a possibility makes her fume, and she presses her teeth together to not spit out another remark.

“I’d like to get a drink with you,” he says.

“Fuck off,” she responds.

She whirls around and catches one of her colleagues, explaining to her that she feels uncomfortable around that man. Her colleague rolls her eyes. “Another ex of yours? Bugger it all, you and your problems.”

Oleana does her best to not let it get to her. “I think he’s stalking me.”

“Aw, you special birdie. Do your job and stop complaining.” A snort. “You think none of us ever put up with creepy bastards? Get used to it.”

So much for collegiality. But she isn’t surprised. That’s just how life is. So Oleana pushes any thought away and gets used to it.

After half an hour, the man waves her to him. Without coming closer, she asks if he wants to pay. It’s obnoxious how he looks at her. With a smile she wants to slap off his face. She swallows down any trace of revulsion, prints out the receipt, and joins him at his table.

It’s 1.400 Poké dollars. He gives her 3.000 and tells her to keep the rest. She grits her teeth, ignores him, and hands him his change. Her hand uselessly keeps hovering in the air as he just won’t take it.

“A tip for you,” he tells her. As if that wasn’t obvious.

“Do I look like a bloody charity case to you?”

She said it louder than she wanted to. Some heads turn to her. She takes a breath, her arm still outstretched. The urge to throw the money at that fucking face of his becomes overwhelming.

“Of course you don’t.” He smiles again. “I just reckon you deserve more than that.”

Than what, she wants to ask and doesn’t. Instead, she lets the money fall onto the table. The clinking sound echoes through the air. Some coins bounce off the surface and land on the ground. “Sod off, fucking geezer,” she spits out. Without another look at him, she turns around and is met by her superior’s eyes.

Shit.

With a horrified expression, the café owner looks at Oleana. Then she hastily approaches the man. She apologizes twenty times while picking coins from the ground. After giving a laugh, he starts to help her, all the while telling her there is no need to apologize. Oleana watches, her stomach rumoring.

“What the actual fuck, Ollie,” one of her colleagues whispers. “That’s Mr. Rose, you dimwit. You just bloody insulted Mr. Rose. Are you daft?”

“Mr. who?” Oleana asks flatly.

“Bloody hell,” her colleague mumbles. “Under which rock do you live? Mr. Rose, that rich bloke with that new company of his. Came second in a champion cup once. He’s so wadded by his parent’s money that it’s not even funny.”

Oleana almost laughs.

“You’re so fired.” Her colleague sighs. “Geez, Ollie. Wouldn’t have hurt to be in that bloke’s good graces. Screwed that one up, you did.”

It doesn’t take long until her superior calls her over. No wonder there is fury in her voice. An important git such as Mr. Rose visiting a café such as this one must be a miracle. With sharp words, her superior orders her to apologize.

It’s not the first time her life seems like an absolute shitshow. She returns Mr. Rose’s gaze without flinching. “I am terribly sorry.”

He keeps smiling. “There is no need to apologize.”

Smug bastard.

She is brought into her superior’s tiny office. While she sits and lets herself be screamed at, she feverishly starts thinking. She has no idea how she’ll get another job in a matter of days. It took her three weeks just to get this shitty job, after all.

“And considering your history of constantly bringing trouble here,” her superior ends, “we’ll unfortunately have to let you go.” A drawn-out sigh. “Miss Spring. You should really start trying to make something of your life.”

There is no “we” to speak of. No “we” to let go of her. Her superior is a lonely bitch, making everyone else responsible for her own shortcomings. But Oleana doesn’t say this aloud. Instead, she wordlessly stands up, grabs her stuff from the changing room, and leaves the café. She doesn’t tell anyone goodbye, and no one stops her to wish her well.

She sees Mr. Rose wait in front of the entrance. It almost boils over – her frustration, her restlessness, the fear sneaking through her mind and clouding her thoughts and making her unable to sleep and causing her to stare at her own trembling hands. But then she remembers that it isn’t worth it.

She stops in front of him. He’s almost as tall as her, standing just a centimeter or two above her.

“I apologize deeply. It was not my intention to make you lose your job.”

She would believe the concern on his face if she didn’t know better.

“I never caught your name either.”

She stares at him. But what is there left to lose? “Oleana.”

For a while, he seems to wait. But she doesn’t hold out her hand to him, and she doesn’t ask for his name in return, and eventually he sighs.

“My name is Zachary Rose.”

She doesn’t give him the satisfaction of showing any emotion at the mention of his name.

“Let me make up for this unfortunate mess,” he continues, unfazed by her lack of reaction. “Are you free tomorrow night?”

“You seriously think,” she spits out, “I would shag you after what you’ve done?”

A small smile. “As I said. I am not trying to woo you.”

“Yeah? What in Christ’s name are you trying to do then?”

He taps his knuckle against his temple. “I want your brains.”

For a moment, she doesn’t know what to make of that. “I’m not a living organ donor.”

He smiles at her, unamused. “Of course you aren’t. What I mean – I have a proposition.”

“You’ll find whores by the docks. I’m not one of them.”

“Listen.” He exhales soundly. “You know how people operate. You are patient. You learn from other’s mistakes. There’s something special up there,” a tap against his temple again, “and I want to find what exactly that is.”

She is too tired to be angry. “Did you stalk me?”

“No.” He laughs. “I just have an eye for people.”

“I didn’t even graduate from school.”

It slipped out before she could do anything about it. She clears her throat and crosses her arms. His eyes stay warm and friendly.

“How old are you?” he says. “If I may ask.”

There is no point in lying. Not anymore. “Nineteen.”

“All the time in the world left, then.” He pats her arm. She considers pushing him away, and she discards the thought. “You deserve so much more than a shite job as a waitress.”

Her eyes sting. She hopes it doesn’t show.

“Meet me tomorrow. Seven p.m., at the Blastoise’s. I’ll be waiting inside for you.”

She watches him leave, looks after him. Her lower lip is quivering. No one ever wanted her brains. No one ever noticed them, even. Not a single soul that was ever close to her saw her as more than a pretty thing with pretty legs and pretty eyes.

She knows it’s childish, but she still flips the café off. Then she walks away.

“So.” Lisa pulls Oleana’s hair back, fixates it with a hairclip. With skillful movements, she strokes the brush over Oleana’s hair, careful to cover any dark spot. “What’s his name?”

“What’s whose name?”

“Come on, Ollie.” The hair color stings the tiniest bit, bites into her scalp. Oleana doesn’t complain. It was the cheapest bottle of hair color she could find. “You only color your hairline when you go on a date. Just tell me. How did you meet? Is he a wanker like Andrew was? He wasn’t even fit. Andrew, I mean.”

“It’s not a date.”

“Bollocks.”

“He is a wanker, though.”

She can practically hear the grin in Lisa’s voice. “Well, well, who would have guessed. Men, eh. Little bit of wanker in all of them.”

Sudden steps outside the room make her freeze. The kind of steps Oleana hates to hear. She whirls her head around in panic, and Lisa stares at her.

“I lost my job,” she whispers.

“Oh, for fuck’s …” Lisa grabs her arm and helps her up. Then she shoves Oleana into the bathroom. “Keep your mouth shut. I’ll do my best.”

Oleana locks the door behind her. An old thing, the key almost falling out of the hole with every slight movement. She listens to the bedroom door being opened, sees herself in the mirror. Dark bags underneath her eyes. Pale cheeks. Half of her hair covered in hair color, the other half messy and dry.

“Where’s that chit?” a scratchy voice calls. “Saw her come in. Don’t you dare lie to me, Lisa. Know as well as me she hasn’t paid her rent yet.”

“No idea where she is,” Lisa responds.

“Like fucking hell you don’t!” A thump that makes Oleana jump. “Hiding somewhere, eh? Got enough of those little games, I do. I want that bloody money in two days or I’m throwing all her goddamn stuff on the street, you hear me?”

“Kate is in the bathroom.” Panic colors Lisa’s face. The sound of fast steps. “She’s having her period. Bleeding all over. Wouldn’t want to see that if I were you.”

“Then get her some buggering tampons, will you? Can afford hair color, but no tampons. Would you look at that. Disgrace, the whole lot of you. I don’t want to see blood stains anywhere.”

“Right, right. There won’t be any, I promise.”

For a while, nothing happens. Then a mumble, steps, the sound of the door being slammed shut. Oleana keeps staring at her reflection, hands shaking. She forces herself to take a breath, then two, and then she unlocks the door. Lisa is stirring the color in the plastic bowl. As if nothing ever happened, Oleana sits down in front of her and waits for her to resume her work.

“Thank you,” she eventually says.

“Fucking shithole,” Lisa mumbles. “Can’t blame you for wanting to get out of here as soon as possible.”

As she waits for the color to set, Oleana opens one of her textbooks, a pencil, and a calculator. Then she puts on her glasses. She has built herself a makeshift curtain out of towels she hangs from the top bunk, so the other girls don’t notice her studying when they enter the room.

“Stinks of hair color,” one of them giggles. “Who has the honor of shagging Ollie tonight?”

“Some other random bloke?” another responds. “Or Andrew again?”

“Sod off, all of you,” Lisa says. Oleana doesn’t look up from her books. Even if she did, she wouldn’t be able to look through the towels. She chews at the end of her pencil.

Binomial distribution. With n being the number of trials, and x being the number of successes, so long as the probability of successes doesn’t differentiate from trial to trial.

“Aw, look who wants to come to her rescue! Shagged her too already?” Another giggle. When one of the girls tries to climb to the top bunk, she spots Oleana. “Oh, excuse me. Blondie is being a swot.”

Oleana flips her the bird.

“Pleasant as ever.” The girl rolls her eyes. “The landlady searched for you again. Wouldn’t take the front door if I were you, blondie.”

She tries to concentrate on her textbook again.

It’s already late when she furtively pulls out her makeup and grabs a pretty dress, hiding anything underneath the fabric. Then she locks the bathroom door behind her. Washes her hair out, puts on a black dress. She’ll be damned if she uses Mr. Rose’s lipstick. She picks a darker one instead. Uses the straightening iron one of the girls owns. Her hair reaches her bum already. It takes her half an hour to have it in place, and the other girls are banging against the door, shouting at her that they need to take a piss. She ignores them.

It’s quarter past seven when she is ready. Mr. Rose will have to deal with it. Her back turned to the girls, she hides what she is taking with her. Lipstick, perfume, her flip phone. Then she approaches the window and looks outside. It’s dark, hardly any people strolling the streets.

“Not going out tonight?” she asks the other girls as she readjusts her grip on the high heels in her hand.

“Nah.” One of them waves her off. “Go off, blondie. Enjoy your shag.”

Oleana snorts. Then she climbs out of the window. Her bare feet hit the porch roof. It’s unfair, sort of. Her mother didn’t care about her going out late at night, so she never had to sneak out. Then again, her mother didn’t care about her, full stop.

She almost sprains her ankle when she lets herself dangle from the porch roof and lets go. With a hiss, she reaches down and massages the bone. Then she slips into her high heels. The first few steps hurt, but she clenches her teeth and doesn’t let it show. As she is walking, she pulls out her bottle of perfume and lets two sprays settle on her skin.

Blastoise’s is a fancy bar, she knows at least that much. The kind she could never afford. She doesn’t let herself be intimidated by its exterior, modern and with black glass and blinking lights. The bouncer lets her through without a word. Jazz music greets her, not too loud to drown out any conversation, but loud enough to be noticeable. Dim lights. Men in suits and women in pretty dresses. Her eyes slide over the people. For a moment, she expects Mr. Rose to have stood her up. She wouldn’t have been surprised. Because he is just another man with no brain, and she is just another chit stupid enough to fall for sweet words.

Then she spots him on the upper floor. Watching her with a smile.

She feels herself flush and hates it. Luckily, the lights are dim enough to hide any color on her face. Without another moment of hesitation, she approaches the stairs. A man stands in her way. Security.

“You’ll need an invitation for the VIP area,” he tells her, sunglasses concealing his emotions.

“Mr. Rose is waiting for me,” she explains.

He looks her up and down. Would be funny if all of this was a big fucking joke. If all Mr. Rose wanted was to watch her be humiliated. The man mumbles something into his earpiece. She’s almost baffled when he steps away, making room for her to climb the stairs.

“Excuse me, Miss Oleana. It was not my intention to offend you.”

She clears her throat and regains her composure. With a nod, she climbs the stairs. The VIP area offers a view over the whole bar. Nobody is here besides Mr. Rose. Maybe this isn’t about her brains, she begins to think. Maybe he is just a charmer who knows exactly how to wrap her around his little finger.

“Oleana.” As she approaches, he stands up and reaches for her arm. Without thought, she stretches her hand out for him. His right hand joins his left, holding her fingers between them as if she would have run away otherwise. “I’m so pleased to have you here.”

“Mr. Rose,” she replies.

“Please. Zachary is fine.” He lets go of her hand and softly guides her to their table. “Have a seat, dear. I couldn’t wait to speak with you.”

Couches covered with black satin. She only hesitantly sits down and is almost swallowed by the soft cushion. A waiter is immediately by their side. She wants to order a beer (because it’s the cheapest option), but Zachary is faster. A whiskey for him, a gin tonic for her.

She’s never drunk gin tonic. She doesn’t say so aloud.

“Oleana.” He doesn’t say her name with wanton. He doesn’t smile at her pruriently. It’s a warmth she doesn’t know how to handle that shimmers in his eyes. “Have you ever thought about attending university?”

She hates being nervous. She clasps her hands and rests them in her lap. “I am currently studying for my A Levels.”

It’s easy to be honest with someone who seems to see something in her. Then again, a little voice inside her warns her he wouldn’t be the first one to use her vulnerability.

“That’s admirable. I did wonder why you would put up with being a waitress.” He coughs, his eyes swaying to the view before them. “I reckon I caused you to lose your only source of income.”

“You did.”

“That’s why,” a look at her, “I want you to move to Wyndon. Study under my supervision there.”

She stares at him.

Their waiter brings them their drinks. As quickly as possible, she takes a sip of hers and waits for the alcohol to burn in her throat. They don’t clink glasses. Zachary watches her, his smile having vanished.

“You are fucking with me, aren’t you? I can’t afford living in Wyndon, let alone study there.”

“You’ll be working for me and my company. For your labor, you will be given a flat that is owned by me. Monetary compensation will also be provided. I will pay for your tuition, too.”

Her hand starts shaking. “Pay for my tuition? In Wyndon? Are you mental?”

His smile is gentle and enticing. “Only the best for a woman such as yourself.”

“Fuck that.” She smashes her glass against the table. The sound rings in her ears. “What am I? Some whore you can own and make her do as you please? You like having women in your debt? And what, if I choose to not work for you, you’ll kidnap me and hide me away in your basement for the rest of my days?”

He looks at her out of calm eyes. She notices that her whole body is shaking. Her heart is pounding so fast that she is becoming dizzy. She digs her nails into her thighs, forces herself to take deep breaths.

“Let me clarify,” he says. “Yes, you will be bound by a contract for three years. After this period ends, you may choose to continue your studies and your work for my company, or you leave. I will not force you into any direction.” He leans closer, his elbows propped on his knees. “What I will tell you, though, is that I see unspeakable potential in you. You are intelligent. Careful. Vigilant. I need people like you.”

He has no idea what it means to need someone, she thinks. Then again, she doesn’t do so either.

“What is your company working on?” she asks, keeping her voice cold and flat.

A smile flashes over his lips. He leans away again, clears his throat. “I believe I have found an alternative way to produce energy. One that is much environment-friendly than what we have now. I will need scientists who specialize in physics and electronic engineering. That is what my company is currently preparing for.”

“Physics isn’t my forte.”

For whatever reason, that makes him laugh. “I didn’t believe mathematical economics would be my forte either until I started studying it.”

She breathes in. Breathes out. “When would you want me to move to Wyndon?”

“As soon as possible. Tomorrow, in two days, it doesn’t matter to me. The flat is empty. You are free to make your decision whenever you fancy.”

She looks into his eyes. Tries to find just a hint of maliciousness. No one ever told her this is what she deserves. When she directs her eyes at the view in front of her, she sees people chatting away underneath her. She can look down at every single one of them.

It sounds too good to be true.

“I want a written contract,” she says. “Containing any detail this deal might entail. I want two attorneys’ written approval of the legal validity of this document. I want a copy of both the contract and the attorneys’ approval. I want you to be as specific as possible. If I find a passage which to me seems questionable, I will ask you to reassess the contract.”

A loud laugh. A laugh so heartfelt she can’t help but stare. Zachary shakes his head in amusement and takes a sip of his whiskey. “See. This is why I wanted you, and only you.”

If he notices the implication behind his words, he doesn’t show it. She wills herself to not blush.

“Well. I will conform to your demands.” The amusement doesn’t vanish from his eyes. “Now let us talk about more pleasant things, shall we? Where you live. Where you grew up. How your childhood was. I want to know all of it.”

She bites the inside of her cheek and keeps a straight face. “I’d rather let you begin, Mr. Rose.”

He smiles at her.

The girls watch as Oleana takes her suitcase and starts filling it up. She doesn’t own much, she realizes. Some fancier clothes, some less fancy ones. Steps sound, a scratchy voice ringing in her eyes.

“I told you to pay your rent, you daft chit! Either do it now or watch as I kick you out, you hear me?”

Not batting an eyelid, Oleana continues folding her clothes.

“You know she’ll chase you to the end of the world to get her money,” one of the girls says, not sounding concerned at all.

The landlady appears in the door, flailing her cane around. “Listen to me, Oleana! I want this money, and I want it now!”

Oleana closes her suitcase, adjusts her handbag on her shoulder, and steps in front of the landlady. She knows she is taller than the average girl, but it’s just so much more satisfying to look down at that excuse of a woman. Not letting go of her eyes, Oleana reaches into her handbag and pulls out a bundle of money.

“There you go,” she says. Removes the elastic band and lets money rain to the floor. “There’s your fucking rent. You’re welcome.”

For a second, everything falls silent. Money keeps raining, settles on the floor. Then, the first sound of laughter quickly smothered by a hand.

“Would you look at that,” one of the girls whispers. “Little Ollie has found herself a sugar daddy. Your mummy must be proud.”

Oleana flips her off. Without another look back, she leaves.


	2. Chapter 2

Oleana keeps reminding herself that she is her own woman. That she won’t settle for dependency. She keeps the contract in a red folder on her desk. (She has never owned a desk that belongs only to her before.) She put the date of the contract ending in her calendar. (She has never owned a wall calendar that belongs only to her before.) Every day she makes herself a cup of coffee, stares at the white mug in her hands. (She has never been able to use a cup that only belongs to her before. The landlady didn’t even let the girls use her coffee machine.) While she watches Wyndon, she thinks about the numerous times she dreamt of this city.

A shower for herself. A whole wardrobe for herself. No one to steal her fancy knickers or her expensive makeup. It’s almost surreal.

She gets ready. Zachary lives in the same building, he told her, laughing at her incredulous look. Assuring her he wouldn’t turn up unannounced at her doorstep. He never did. He always gives her time to choose clothes and put on her makeup. Only when she texts him she is ready does he knock at her door. It’s no different this time.

When she asks where they will be going, he tells her it’s a surprise. She feels nervous and fidgety, but does her best to not let any of this show.

After a walk of fifteen minutes, they end up in front of a hairdresser.

“Zachary,” she says. “I can’t afford this.”

“It’s a gift for you.” He smiles at her softly. “For aiding me from now on.”

She feels the corners of her mouth twitch. “I don’t need gifts from you.”

“Now, Oleana, don’t be modest.” He casually puts a hand on her shoulder – a gesture she has learned is just a part of him – and directs her towards the entrance. “You deserve being treated like the lady that you are.”

The words make any protest wither on her tongue.

It’s a posh place. Her high heels click on the floor. She is getting used to the attention Zachary receives, how people smell money and bow down to him left and right. Brownnosers, the whole lot. After talking to the secretary, he pats her arm. “I’ll be back in three hours. Enjoy your stay, dear.”

She blinks at him. “You are leaving?”

“I’ve got some appointments. But don’t worry. I have complete confidence in those lovely ladies.”

She reminds herself that she is her own woman, that Zachary is no more than a chance for her to receive what she deserves. So she waves her hand and turns away from him. “Go off, then.”

A little laugh. Then he leaves.

She belongs to places like this, she tells herself. She belongs to places where people smile at her and try to fulfill her every wish. A coffee as she waits for the hairdresser. A gossip magazine next to it. She thumbs through it. A story about a new gym leader for Motostoke. A story about the current champion. She isn’t much into the gym challenge. She never cared. There were more important things than getting her trainer license at sixteen. For example, getting pissed enough to forget how shitty living really was.

“Hi, darling.” A woman appears in the mirror, stops right behind her. Oleana watches as the woman puts both hands on her chair. “My name is Jenn. What can we do for you?”

She stares at her own mirror image. “Recolor my hairline, I suppose.”

With a nod, Jenn lets a strand of hair run through her fingers. “You colored them yourself?”

“Yes.” Oleana’s shoulders are tense.

“I see.” Through the mirror, Jenn looks her in the eyes. “If it’s okay with you, I’ll pick you a darker blonde. Not much, just a little tiny bit. Would be perfect with your complexion and your eyes. All right?”

Oleana nods.

“Also,” a pause, “your ends are rather damaged. I’d advise you to cut a fair bit off.”

When Oleana responds after a second, her voice sounds sharp. “What is a fair bit?”

Jenn lifts her hand and points at a spot slightly underneath Oleana’s chest.

Silence.

“With hair that long,” Jenn continues, “it’s always hard to keep it healthy.”

The one thing all other girls were always jealous of. The one thing she could be better at than anyone else. “I did keep it bloody healthy,” Oleana barks out. “It won’t come off.”

“Dear, I’m just –”

“Fuck off. I won’t cut them.”

Her eyes drift from her own face to Jenn again. The woman holds her hands up defensively, an unsure expression on her face.

“I didn’t want to offend you,” she says, voice quivering the tiniest bit. “I’m terribly sorry if I did.”

The regret on her face seems to be genuine. That’s something Oleana never saw. Someone being honestly sorry. Not hiding some snide remark behind nice words.

Oleana bites her tongue and loosens the grip on her chair’s armrests. “No. No, I am sorry for being so rude.” She looks at her own eyes. Green. Cold. Lips red as blood, brows furrowed. She isn’t sure if she likes what she sees. “Maybe you are right. Maybe I should cut them off.”

“It’s your decision, dear.”

She takes a deep breath. “Yes. Let’s do it.”

Tears sting in her eyes as Jenn pulls her hair into a ponytail. A pair of scissors enclosing the bottom end of her hair. Seconds until they snap closed. Oleana watches herself, her reaction. Her fingers dig into her own thighs.

“Done.” Jenn smiles at her carefully. “Feels like starting a whole new life, eh?”

Oleana doesn’t smile back.

“Would you look at that! A blonde goddess.” Zachary grabs her hands, then takes a step back to look at her more thoroughly. She has to avert her gaze. “What do you think, dear? Are you happy with it?”

Maybe it’s a question of civility, she thinks. But when she dares look at him again, there is a slight shimmer of concern in his eyes. Still holding his hands, she takes a glance at one of the mirrors next to her. Her platin blonde mane – gone. What is left is shimmering golden hair, swaying with her movements.

“I will get used to it,” she replies firmly.

“My. What an honest answer. Didn’t expect anything else from you.” Zachary smiles at her. She holds onto this last anchor. “Now then. I have another surprise for you, and you might be more pleased with it.”

He pays for her. When she hears the secretary utter the price of her session, Oleana feels dizzy. 30.000 Poké dollars. That’s almost half of her wages. Her previous wages, she reminds herself. She supposes sums such as this one mean nothing to a man like Zachary. For a brief moment, she feels terribly out of place.

“Come on, dear.” He turns to her, puts a hand on her back. She complies. “I want this to be your special day.”

“You’re awfully kind to me.”

She doesn’t need to go on. His laugh makes his whole face light up. “See, if you find something special, you shouldn’t let it go. If I weren’t to spoil you, someone else might see your potential and snatch you away from me.”

“I’m not your property.”

“Of course you aren’t.” He lets his hand sink down. “That’s why I’ll have to convince you that I’m not looking to own you. Rather, I want to show you that I mean what I say.”

Their next stop is an optician store. She raises an eyebrow and turns to him. “That’s the surprise?”

Zachary gives an amused snort and puts two fingers on his chin. “I saw you squinting at signs quite often. I take it you are usually wearing glasses?”

Her stomach churns. He has been watching her. Not in the way she is used to, but in the way that makes him notice all the little things no one else does. Her jaw starts quivering. She needs some seconds to form an answer. “When I’m studying, I do.”

“Did you ever think about contact lenses?”

She gives a bitter snort and rubs her thumb against index finger and middle finger. Thoughtfully, he nods.

“When was the last time you were at an optician store?”

She shrugs. “Seven years or so ago, I guess.” Then she narrows her eyes at him. “What is this? A medical briefing?”

He rubs her shoulder. “Please excuse my curiosity. Sometimes I can’t hold back.”

A lump builds in her throat. She can’t answer.

Another fancy place with a bunch of brownnosers catering to their every whim. If they smell money on Zachary, they do so on her, too. Her clothing is mundane, though – nothing compared to the suit Zachary wears. She wonders how he can be so confident. Wearing suits as if his wardrobe provides nothing else.

They take her diopters with a number of eyesight tests. When Zachary hears the values, he looks at her in disbelief. “You lived like this? Did you never get a headache?”

The question hurts a bit more than she likes to admit.

She doesn’t only get a package of contact lenses she is supposed to try out for a week; she also gets a new pair of glasses. Expensive ones. They look pretty, she must admit, and Zachary really spares no expenses. An uneasy feeling blooms in her chest. Maybe even with her work, she will never be able to pay him back. Not in a sufficient way, that is. Maybe she will disappoint him, and all the effort he put into her will be for naught.

She stares at herself in the mirror, glasses on her nose, and swallows down the knot threatening to cloak her throat. His hands find her shoulders, looking at her through the reflection.

“Do you like them?”

She nods and urges herself not to cry.

“See. I knew you would.” His touches are soft. She shivers. “It’s all yours, darling. You deserve only the world.”

No one ever said something like this. She only deserved a scolding, or to be used and thrown away, or to be glanced at for a second. She never deserved more than that.

At home, alone and on her own with beautiful furniture and a breathtaking view at Wyndon, she starts to cry.

The classes she takes are exhausting. Preparations for her A Levels. In Motostoke, she took evening classes she could barely afford. She likes mathematics, even though statistics cause her a headache sometimes, and to enter the university Zachary wants her to, she needs to take physics and chemistry, too. Sometimes – seldomly – they eat dinner together in expensive restaurants. Only the two of them, and she begins to feel extremely privileged, being allowed to spend time with a man such as him.

They start talking about his A Levels while Oleana is eating her colorfully prepared salad. Then they start talking about university.

“My father wanted me to design Wyndon’s outline,” he says. “Architecture was never quite my thing, but I got into it pretty quickly. And there you are.”

She almost spits her food out again. “You? You designed Wyndon? You _designed_ Wyndon?”

He looks at her with something like fondness. “Should your disbelief hurt me?”

“Buggering hell,” she mumbles. “You can’t be older than thirty.”

“Now you do wound me. I am twenty-eight.”

“How old were you? When you designed Wyndon?”

“Twenty-three. I think. Shortly before graduating from university.”

She stares at her salad, at her fork, a piece of pepper impaled on metal. “That’s mental. Bloody fuck. You are some privileged wanker, you know that?”

He grins. She notices her mistake and clears her throat.

“You are a privileged young man. Excuse me.”

“You can take a person out of Motostoke,” he laughs, “but you can never take Motostoke out of them.”

“I’m not particularly fond of such stereotypes.”

“They say women from Motostoke are the prettiest of Galar, though.” His smile sends her heart racing. “I have to agree.”

She stares at her salad again. “If you go on like this, I will start to believe you are being flirtatious.”

He laughs. “I wouldn’t dare. All I’m doing is stating the obvious.”

She bites into a pepper and chews.

He tells her about his family. The Roses, a bunch of “posh gits”. That does surprise her, though. He doesn’t sound too angry when he talks about them, but he doesn’t sound too chuffed either. When he notices her staring, he gives a tired laugh.

“My father cheated on my mother more than once.”

“Oh.”

“They are still together, though. That’s what money makes out of you sometimes.” He looks at his own food. “It makes you cold, inhuman. It makes you think that others should be underneath you. It makes you think that the most basic rules don’t apply to you.”

Her cheeks start burning in shame. She pokes her food.

“It’s why I want to do something for humanity,” he continues. “With Macro Cosmos.”

“Macro Cosmos,” she repeats.

“My company.” Warmth seeps into his voice again. She is glad. “I’ll take you there soon. Right now, you should focus on your A Levels. Then on university. Everything else can come later.”

She thinks the doubts will never vanish. Since her childhood, she’s always been on the lookout. For one word, one gesture that lets her peek at the truth that lies underneath the surface. The more perfect the surface seems, the more filth rots away underneath it, she has learned.

She keeps eating.

She reads the email. Again and again. Her heart is fluttering. She can’t believe it, she really can’t. Her hands are shaking when she dials Zachary’s number.

“I passed,” is the first thing she whispers into the hearer.

“Passed,” he repeats. Then it seems to dawn on him. “You passed. You passed your A Levels.”

She sits down. Holds back a sob. “I got an A.”

“Oleana, dear! Congratulations.” Rumbling in the background. “Get yourself ready. We’ll go for a drink and pledge a toast to you.”

“It’s only four o’clock.”

“Champagne doesn’t care for the time of day.” His voice is gentle, runs over her skin like silk. “I am so very proud of you, Oleana Spring.”

She says her goodbyes, hangs up, and buries her face in her hands. Curses the people who told her she would never amount to anything. Curses her mother who would laugh at her for trying to make something of her life. Curses every girl that tried to talk her down, and every bloke who saw nothing more in her than a good shag.

Zachary appears at five o’clock. He tells her he cancelled two meetings for this occasion, and she stares at him. That’s daft, she says. It isn’t, he replies. Being with her for such a vital moment in her life is more important than any stupid meeting.

She suddenly feels the strong urge to kiss his cheek, his whole face.

Him.

The thought isn’t disconcerting. She tells herself she won’t drink too much, because who knows what lack of self-control would do to her, and they empty two bottles of expensive champagne. He can hold his liquor better than she does, she notices. When she was sixteen, she got drunk to escape. Now she doesn’t want to be anywhere else.

“It’s the first time I really see you smile,” he says.

In the bar’s lighting, he seems a bit surreal. Colors dancing over his face, getting caught in his hair. She wonders what would happen if she leaned forward. Which kind of expression he would reveal. If his longing holds the same gentleness as every single one of his words does.

“You are the first person to make me smile,” she responds.

She has no idea what time it is when Zachary brings her home. Helps her into the flat. It’s hard to walk on her own. She hasn’t been that drunk in years. But it was fun, and she doesn’t regret one second. Not when Zachary is by her side. Not when he treats her with so much warmth. She is remotely aware of the fact that he takes off her shoes. It’s an odd sight, having him kneel before her. She stares at the back of his head.

When he draws himself up again, she grabs his collar.

“Do you want to kiss me?” she asks.

“You are very drunk right now,” he responds.

“So?” Her hands travel from his collar to his neck, resting on his skin. Her long nails, perfectly kept in form, scratch his jaw. “Doesn’t mean I can’t kiss you.”

Something about his usually soft smile is sad. She can’t quite grasp it though. Instead, she watches as he takes her hands and gently push them away. Then, a hand on her back, he guides her towards the bed. “It would be best if you went to sleep now.”

“You don’t want to kiss me.”

“Listen, Oleana.” He tucks her into bed. Her whole body feels heavy, and even though she knows that she should feel embarrassed and ashamed, the alcohol smothers any coherent thought. She doesn’t have to concentrate on anything but her blurry vision for now. “When I say that you deserve more, I mean it. You deserve more than a bloke kissing you because he’s drunk. You deserve more than sleeping with someone just because you feel you should. You understand?”

“You are so nice to me.” She turns her back to him. “I don’t understand.”

“Someday you will. Someday you’ll look into the mirror and see the woman I see.”

She wants to cry, wants to sleep and forget all about it. She feels a hand on her arm, travelling up and down. Slowly, she closes her eyes and feels darkness engulf her.

Oleana remembers the whole evening.

She wishes for a spontaneous blackout, but she isn’t granted one. Every time she reaches for her phone, she withdraws her hand again, thinking about what she would say and how Zachary would react. She ruined everything, she thinks. By being a stupid chit, she ruined anything. Not surprising, really. Not the first time her whole life crumbles into pieces before her eyes.

Someone knocks at the door at two o’clock. Through the spyhole, she can see that it’s Zachary. For a moment, she allows her forehead to sink against the door.

“I look like shite,” she tells him through the wood.

“Me too.” Bloody liar. Every curl of hair is perfectly in place. Just as it always is. “I’ve brought you something.”

A restraining order, she thinks to herself and almost laughs. Hesitantly, she opens the door. She doesn’t move. There’s a pizza box in his hands.

“You brought pizza,” she states, gobsmacked.

“I applaud your observation skills.” A mischievous grin spreads on his lips. It almost seems foreign on his face. “Nothing better than a piece of pizza after boozing all night.”

She lets him in. Feels her hands quake as she gets two plates for them. Feels her head throb as she sits down across from him. One half margherita with champignons, the other half prosciutto and onions. Still warm. She takes a piece of margherita and watches cheese slowly triple down to her plate.

“I am sorry,” she whispers so quietly she fears he won’t hear it.

Zachary bites into his pizza, waving her off. “Forgiven, forgotten. Nothing happened anyway, so no need to apologize.”

She lets her pizza sink down. She has no appetite. “It was inappropriate. I am sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

“As I said, nothing happened.”

“Buggering fuck,” she mumbles, her fingers gripping the table surface. “Something did happen. I acted like a needy slag.”

“You were drunk.”

“That’s no excuse.”

Zachary sighs. It hurts to think that she disappointed him, and it hurts even more to realize she is disappointing him right now, too. “Maybe you should start being a bit nicer to yourself, don’t you think?”

She doesn’t know how to answer.

“Anyway, more important things to do. For instance, finally enrolling you in university. Do you have a preference?”

Be nice to yourself, she tells herself. Maybe she should be glad that it was Zachary and no one else. Maybe every other man would have shagged her without a second thought. Maybe all he has for her are friendly feelings, or maybe she is too young for him. Not pretty enough. Not rich enough. Not good enough.

Her nails are blood red and glimmer in artificial lighting. “The University of Wyndon is a very prestigious place already. I’m not sure if I can live up to expectations.”

“The only expectation I have is that you won’t waste your potential.”

Which potential, she wants to inquire and holds herself back. She picks up her pizza again and takes a bite.

“Oh, and I noticed yesterday.” Zachary nods at her desk. “You told me you aren’t a trainer?”

She follows his gaze and feels a shudder run through her body. A tiny Poké ball lies on it, red coating already scratched off in countless places. “I am not.”

“I never saw you with a Pokémon.”

“She has been in there for six years.”

Zachary looks at her. He seems flabbergasted, and she can’t understand why. “You haven’t let out your Pokémon in six years?”

“My mother gave her to me.”

She doesn’t want to explain further, even though his eyes urge her to go on. She continues eating.

“That’s a bit cruel,” he says, looking at the Poké ball again. “Caging your Pokémon in for so long.”

The red folder on her desk laughs at her. She feels her fingers cramp. “It’s my Pokémon. My sodding choice. If you don’t agree with it, then throw me out. I don’t give a fuck.”

Her words leave silence. She regrets them immediately. Still, she doesn’t apologize. She’s had enough of apologizing.

“You are right,” Zachary says with a weak smile. “It is your choice.”

She ignores the glaring undertone.

“This will be your office.”

She stares at the room. Sterile, white, tastefully decorated. “I don’t need my own office.”

“Not yet, maybe.” Zachary smiles at her, his hand still on her back. “But you will soon. Easier to give you an office now than to overcomplicate things, no?”

“Zachary,” she whispers, then clears her throat. “Mr. Rose.”

“Why so formal?”

“Because you are my superior, and I am not supposed to address you in any other way.”

He laughs, pats her back. “Oh my. Makes me wonder which version I like better: your formal one or the one with a wicked tongue.”

It’s unfair, she thinks. It’s unfair that his words are meant as nothing more than fatherly ones. “I perceive the latter as my former self.”

Eyebrows raised, he looks at her. “I don’t.”

She gets acquainted with the science division. The head of the division is a woman named Diane, her eyes hard and her black hair tied into a knot, no younger than at least forty. She shakes Oleana’s hand, then tosses Zachary a long look.

“She is quite young,” Diane notes. There is slight disdain in her voice, and Oleana feels her shoulders tense.

“She is one of the most promising women I have ever met.” He puts both hands on her shoulders. She can’t see it, but she is sure a smile is coloring his face as he speaks. “Treat her well, Diane.”

Her forehead wrinkled, Diane eyes her yet again. “I will do my best.”

Oleana doesn’t really want to be left alone with Diane, but in the end, Zachary excuses himself for a meeting. Carefully, Oleana inspects the area. A lot of staff running around. A whole bunch of desks with staples of documents. No one really notices her, busily hurrying along. The laboratory must be nearby, because some employees are clad in white coats which sway with their movements.

“Are you sleeping with him?” Diane asks.

Oleana turns to look at her. She isn’t even angry. Brutal bluntness is something she has learned to deal with. “No. Are you?”

Diane snorts. “Once, twice, but frankly, I’m not into younger blokes.”

Not hard to guess what lies behind those words. Oleana doesn’t show any kind of reaction. “Are you here to grill me on my personal life or do you want to proceed to more important matters?”

“Ah.” A hint of a grin. “He does fancy the cheeky ones.”

The facility is impressive. Two large laboratories, specially equipped computer rooms with devices for analysis, countless employees. Once again, Oleana is overwhelmed by the sheer amount of money Zachary seems to possess.

“We are almost at a breaking point,” Diane explains. “Give us four more years, and we’ll crack the secret.”

“Which secret?”

“Ever learned about the Darkest Day?” At Oleana’s confused look, Diane gives a sigh. “Thought so. Zachary believes it to be an event worth studying, and I have to say that there is some merit to his theories.”

First-name basis. Oleana wrinkles her nose. When Diane notices, she smirks.

“Did I say twice? Could have been ten times. Or more. You know, who likes to keep count?”

Without a word, Oleana averts her gaze.

It only takes one month of attending university until she is found out.

“Wait. Now I know why you looked sort of familiar.”

Oleana looks up from her laptop. Typing is torture; her nails are too long and she can never remember where which letter is. Her project partner is browsing through a magazine in front of her. Oleana wonders how they will ever get that presentation ready.

She generally likes uni. She hates group projects. Simple as that.

“Oh my god.” Her classmate turns the magazine around and smacks it onto the table. “It is you. Buggering hell.”

A picture of Zachary and herself, sitting in a bar and enjoying a glass of wine. An obnoxiously big headline right above it: _Zachary Rose, millionaire and finally in love?_

She resists the urge to massage her temples. “Yes. I know Mr. Rose.”

“Mr. Rose,” her classmate repeats. “Please. You are clearly dating him.”

“I am not.”

Her classmate’s eyes narrow. “I don’t want to judge, but is that why you attend Wyndon University? Because, to be frank with you, everyone was wondering who you are. Usually, only people with scholarships are unrecognizable in here, if you get my drift.”

Oleana does. Just another cute way of saying she is shagging her way to the top. She is getting tired of this. “Could we please concentrate on the task at hand?”

“At least tell me if he is a good kisser.”

“I never kissed him.”

“Bloody liar, you are.” A second of silence. “Or is he one of those weird blokes? You know, those who buy you stuff, but don’t want to touch you. Some kind of fetish. How does that work? Does he rub one out while thinking about the stuff he bought you?”

“Could you take your fucking gossip and shove it up your arse, please? We’ve got work to do.”

Her classmate stares at her. Oleana internally smacks herself.

It just takes one day until everyone at campus is staring at her. Girls are snickering behind their hands, boys are looking at her funnily during lectures. She would have liked to gain a friend or two here, but once again, people prove to be exhausting.

There are a few acquaintances she keeps regular contact with, but that’s it. The rest of her free time she spends in the laboratory, ignoring Diane’s remarks and concentrating on whatever knowledge Diane is actually able to pass on. Oleana never worked with electric circuits before. The tiny pieces of machinery Diane shows her seem foreign to her. Ultimately, she also discovers that she is absolutely shite at soldering anything.

Practice, Diane says and shrugs. All it takes will be practice.

So even when the whole staff is gone, Oleana stays in the building. She asks the security for a key, assures him that Mr. Rose will approve (and he does so after the security bloke gives him a call, albeit Zachary seems to be confused by the request). She sits down in the lab. Solders broken chips onto malfunctioning mainboards and almost burns her fingers. Tries to remember the components that make up a mainboard and snatches some books from shelves in the division’s office.

A hand on her shoulder. It’s only then that she notices she has been asleep, her head buried on her crossed arms, her neck hurting from the sitting position she was in. With a grumble, she blinks at a familiar face.

“Zachary,” she mumbles. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking out for you.” A small smile. “Come on, dear. No need to work that hard. You will have years and years to accomplish something great. There is no need to rush things.”

She lets herself be led out the building.


	3. Chapter 3

Oleana locks the door behind her when suddenly, her phone rings. A curse on her lips, she fishes her phone out of her handbag and picks up. “Yes?”

“Miss Spring?”

“Yes. I’m busy, so please make it quick.”

“Um, Miss Spring. This is Motostoke Hospital. We deeply regret to inform you that we are calling because of your mother’s demise.”

She stops. Stands uselessly in the corridor, hand clutching her phone.

“Miss Spring?”

“Yes,” she replies hastily. “She died?”

“Yes. She was found last night in her home. We assume she has been dead for two days prior to the discovery. Neighbors called the police out of worry. We can estimate that she suffered a heart attack.”

Oleana nods and remembers that the woman on the other end of the phone can’t see that much. “Okay.”

“You are listed as her emergency contact, so we are obliged to inform you first. We will need you to take some further steps, Miss Spring. You aren’t residing in Motostake at the moment, am I correct?”

She stares at the wall in front of her. “Yes. I am in Wyndon.”

“Is it possible for you to visit Motostake in the next five days?”

“I think so.”

The information she receives blurs into an indistinctive mishmash. Places she can contact, places she will need to contact. Something about legal documents. About a will. Like hell her mother had a will. She couldn’t even lift a finger to feed her kid. Thank you, goodbye. Oleana stares at her phone, then flips it closed.

She goes to her classes. Participates as best as she can. Goes home in the evening. She isn’t hungry, isn’t thirsty. Isn’t sad. Shocked. She feels nothing. She sits down on her balcony and watches Wyndon. It’s summer. She was born in autumn. Her mother died in summer. Her mother died.

Oleana tries to remember the last time she talked to her. After running away from home with her then-boyfriend, she called her mother once. A lot of screaming. Her mother called her a useless bitch back then, a worthless slag, a disgrace to her and the family. Which fucking family, Oleana asked. Her two aunts who never visit? Her uncle who pretends that neither her mother nor Oleana herself exist? Her dead grandparents? Or even her father, that arsehole of a man who ran away after realizing his girlfriend was pregnant?

She changed her number and never called again.

She is supposed to feel sad. She is supposed to feel something, at least. All she does feel is annoyance. Organizing a funeral is a pain in the arse. Then again, she isn’t certain she has to organize one. No one would attend it anyway. Her mother had no family, no friends, nothing. A sad, lonely woman who never made anything of her life.

Another call. Her heart does a jump, but it’s only Zachary. She picks up.

“Oleana, dear. You didn’t visit Diane today. Not that you are obliged to do so –”

“My mother died.”

She doesn’t know why she said it. Maybe because it’s just proper, telling someone, anyone about it. Maybe because doing so makes it more of a reality. Her statement leaves silence.

“I’ll wrap up the meetings for today and come over,” he eventually says. The firmness in his voice shakes her to the core.

“There is no need.”

“There is. I’ll hurry.”

A peep. She lets her phone sink down. Wyndon by night. Lights everywhere. Her mother never saw something like this. Her whole sad life she spent in Motostoke. She never saw something like Wyndon. Never saw her daughter in pretty outfits and pretty makeup. Never knew that her daughter attends university. Never knew what her daughter accomplished.

She will never know.

Oleana wants to smash something to pieces. Her phone, her flat, anything. Her eyes fall on the Poké ball. The only legacy her mother has left her.

She never released her Pokémon into wilderness. She doesn’t know why. Because it was gift, or because it was the kind of gift you don’t give away out of spite. When Poké balls shatter, the Pokémon usually dies. The data it was transformed into is lost. She learned that much in school. She can remember when one of her classmates stepped on his own Poké ball, and through a series of unfortunate events, it broke apart. He killed his own Pokémon.

Oleana lets the ball drop to the floor. It bounces off, rolls around, stops. She lifts her leg.

A knock at her door.

It’s almost funny. She doesn’t think one stomp would have sufficed anyway. Tossing her hair back, she opens the door and finds Zachary in front of it. It’s touching that he hurried so much that his whole forehead is drenched in drops of sweats, but it’s unnecessary.

“I’m terribly sorry for taking so long,” he tells her.

She gives an amused sound and lets him in. “I am fine, though.”

“I don’t think you are.”

“Know me so well already?” She fetches him a glass of water and sits down at the kitchen table with him. “How was your meeting?”

“Nothing special.” The sorrow in his eyes makes her stomach churn. “What happened?”

It’s absurd, realizing that Zachary feels more than she does. “Heart attack, they think. She wasn’t ill before, as far as I remember, but I haven’t seen her in some years. I’m supposed to be in Motostoke in the next few days. They need my signature, some documents.”

“I reckon you weren’t really close to her. You never talked about her.”

Oleana nods. “I wasn’t. Even though she had me as her emergency contact.” She stares at her phone. “Odd. I changed my number years ago, and yet she listed me as her emergency contact. Even though …”

The thought is sudden and makes bile rise to her throat.

“She had my current number. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have been able to reach me that easily.” She jumps up, keeps staring at the phone. “She must have had my number. She must have – and still. She never – you know how often she called me? Not once.”

She removes her glasses from her nose. Doesn’t risk a glance at Zachary.

“I could have rotted away in a sewer and she wouldn’t have called me.”

She kicks her chair away. It clatters over the floor, falls over with a loud bang.

“She had my fucking number. She could have called me anytime. Just to know that I’m alive.”

Her voice climbs too high. Hurts in her own ears.

“I was fifteen when I ran away. Fucking fifteen. She didn’t call the police, that bloody hag. She never cared for more than her bloody cigarettes. Told me to get her a package every Monday. I was a little girl. I was just a little girl, and that is all she did? That is all she thought I deserve?”

Her vision becomes blurry. Before she can hide her face in her hands, arms wrap around her. Sway her softly from left to right.

“I’m so sorry,” Zachary whispers.

What for, she wants to ask. She can’t speak. She is tainting his suit with tears. Yet she can’t move away. It hurts. It hurts so much her chest feels painful, so much that her lips quiver. She wants to curl into a ball and wait for the pain to fade away. She wants to lie awake in darkness and make herself as small as possible.

The first sob is quiet. The second one shakes everything inside her. It hurts so much. Every tear, and every thought, and every word. It won’t stop hurting. She clutches his arms and hides her face on his shoulder.

Her whole world crumbles. There is nothing else left to do than building it up yet again.

She lets the Poké ball sway from left to right underneath the tip of her finger. “It’s a Trubbish. She promised me a Pokémon for my twelfth birthday. Some kids got Eevees, some got Meowths, and I got a Trubbish.”

Zachary looks at Wyndon. It’s cold on her balcony, but it doesn’t bother her.

“I had to go to hospital twice because of her.” Oleana shrugs. “You know, when a Trubbish belches, the emitted gas can be dangerous for humans. My mother didn’t care that much.”

“So that’s what you did,” Zachary says. “Trying to make a Pokémon suffer to make up for your suffering.”

It’s the hard truth. It doesn’t faze her as much as it would have otherwise. “Perhaps.”

“A Trubbish’s smell can be neutralized by a Bounsweet. Its natural scent drowns out any unpleasant smell.”

She raises an eyebrow. “You want to give me a Bounsweet? I’m not a trainer.”

“You don’t have to be one to raise Pokémon.”

That is that.

Zachary offers her to accompany her to Motostoke, but she refuses. He has better things to do than sorting documents of a person who isn’t even worth knowing. She decides on not holding a funeral. She decides on an incineration. She refuses to look at the corpse. She sleeps in a hotel until the incineration takes place, and she unceremonially dumps the ashes into the water at the docks. There is nothing left of her mother than dust.

There is nothing else her mother deserves.

Most of the stuff her mother owned she throws away. Her caravan is worth shite, anyway. Some neighbor has already stolen the gas canister, and another neighbor must have broken in and taken all tableware with them. Oleana doesn’t care.

She finds a photo album underneath the small bed. The whole caravan reeks of abandon, and she constantly has to scrunch up her nose. She doesn’t want to open the album, but her curiosity wins out. She doesn’t remember those photos. Most of them depicting her as a child. It’s a miracle her mother could ever afford a camera, let alone print the photos out. Dates are written underneath every single photo. The oldest one from 1988, her mother pregnant. No older than fifteen, a radiant smile on her face. Nan died when Oleana was seven. She didn’t understand back then – why a person would just vanish and never reappear.

She caught her mother crying sometimes. Less so later on. Her mother became lethargic to the world, to everything. Her mother stopped caring, so Oleana stopped caring too.

Maybe, with the money she has now, she could have afforded a flat for her mother. Let her live like a human being deserves to live.

Maybe her mother would be proud now, if she was still alive.

Oleana closes the album.

Back in Wyndon, Zachary hands her an Ultra ball. A female Bounsweet, he explains. In her flat, she releases the tiny Pokémon and lets it sniff her hand. The Bounsweet looks a bit unsure. Zachary didn’t lie, though – its aroma immediately settles in the whole room. When she tries to pat Bounsweet’s head, the Pokémon coos contentedly.

It takes her two more days of getting used to that Bounsweet running around in her flat until she picks up her Trubbish’s ball.

She takes a breath and releases the Pokémon. After all that time, she is pretty sure Trubbish can’t even remember who she is. She imagines being trapped in a web of electricity and data, her mind a collection of zeros and ones, and starts feeling terrible.

“Hey, little girl,” she whispers and bends down.

Her Trubbish blinks and looks around, squinting her eyes in obvious pain. Grimacing, Oleana dims the lights. The Trubbish is shaking miserably. With tiny steps, Bounsweet comes closer, giving a little sound at the sight of a foreign Pokémon.

“If I may introduce you,” Oleana says. “This is Trubbish. And Trubbish, this is Bounsweet.”

Feeling silly, she watches the Pokémon. Every time Trubbish belches, Bounsweet squeaks gleefully. Trubbish’s movements seem stiff. She supposes that is to be expected, after being trapped in a Poké ball for the last few years.

Oleana feels so guilty that she fills two cups with Pokémon fodder. Then she watches Trubbish eat. She hated her when she was twelve. She was so ashamed that she never let herself be seen by her Pokémon’s side. She wonders how that must feel, being an outcast, being powerless, being caught in one’s own existence.

She knows exactly how it feels, she realizes.

When she stretches her hand out for Trubbish, the Pokémon backs away with large eyes. Oleana freezes. Then she withdraws her hand.

Every other Saturday, there’s a little open market on the main square. Vegetables fresh from fields, Pokémon products from eggs to milk to meat, rare Pokémon being sold or traded. Oleana doesn’t come here often. In fact, she has better things to do. Still, her eyes are drawn to one of the booths at the edge of the main square right away.

A Feebas between a bunch of Magikarps.

“No one will buy Feebas filets,” she thinks aloud.

The man managing the booth snorts. “Know as much, missy. ’s why I can’t get rid of it.”

“Feebas evolve into Milotics.”

“You think I’d bother for an ugly thing like this one?” A harsh laugh. “Get me a Prism Scale. Then I’ll think ’bout evolving it. Now it’s useless scrap. Fished it up together with ’em bunch of Magikarps. Least people eat Magikarps, y’know?”

She furrows her brows. The Feebas is swimming along in the tank, its eyes empty. Surrendering itself to its destiny. It will be tossed out god knows where if it is lucky enough. Or it will be decapitated and disposed of.

“Just because it isn’t pretty,” she says, “it doesn’t have to be useless.”

“Yeah? Try bein’ a fisherman and tell me that again, missy.”

She sends him a dark look. “You are wasting potential.”

“Fuck potential. I need profit, no potential.”

She rummages around her handbag and pulls out her wallet. “I’ll give you 2.500.”

For a moment, he stares at her, mouth almost hanging open. “What ya need? Filets?”

“I want it alive.”

Another moment of silence. Then the man laughs loudly. “Fuckin’ barmy, you are. No skin off my nose, though.” In the end, she gets a large bag filled with water, her Feebas inside it. “Good luck using its potential.”

Inside the Macro Cosmos building, Diane looks at her funnily as she approaches with her plastic bag. “We do have tanks here, right?” Oleana asks, not batting an eyelid.

“Not for random Feebas,” Diane responds.

Oleana tries not to scold herself for her uncharacteristic impulsiveness. “I can ask Zachary if you don’t want to help me.”

With a groan, Diane turns away. “You are such a bloody pain in the arse. Right, right, I’ll get a tank to your office. Don’t you worry, princess.”

In the end, Oleana sits in her office, a tank next to her window, and stares the Feebas soullessly swimming from left to right. Back to left, right again. Short pause. Left.

She buries her face in her hands.

A knock at her door. She straightens her back and tells her visitor to come in. When she recognizes Zachary behind it, she lets out a relieved breath.

“Diane complained about you once again.” Smiling good-naturedly, he closes the door behind him. Then his eyes fall upon the tank. “Ah. She did not lie. You brought a Feebas here. And needed a whole tank for it.”

“There is no space left in my flat.”

He gives her an expectant look, and she leans back with a sigh.

“Someone at the marketplace wanted to sell it. No one in their right mind would buy Feebas filets.”

“So you bought the whole Feebas instead?”

“Milotics are strategically advantageous Pokémon. I’ve heard.”

Their eyes meet. She can’t handle the pride shining in his teal irises.

“You were being compassionate.”

“You say that as if I’m usually incapable of being compassionate.”

He keeps smiling. “You know that’s not what I mean.” Then he clears his throat. “Also, I’m not only here for pleasantries.”

There is tension in his voice. She lifts her eyebrows.

“We will have to renew the contract.”

“Oh,” she says, and then again, “Oh.” It’s already been three years. She has forgotten about the red folder on her desk. She has forgotten about her calendar on the wall.

“Time flies, doesn’t it?” he says.

“It does.”

He looks at her. Longer than he usually does, a look so piercing she feels herself shiver. “I’ll give you some days for your decision. Bring the contact to my office sometime during the next week.”

For a second, she doesn’t understand. When she finally does, a sound gets stuck in her throat. “There is no question about my decision.”

Firm words. Words that light up Zachary’s eyes. Words that mean finality, at least for the next three years. But this is her place. Motostoke isn’t her home. It hasn’t been for a long time. Motostoke has become a city of ashes and buried memories.

“Three years,” she mumbles and averts her gaze. The words slip out, unable to be held back. “You might think about a wife sooner or later. You are not getting any younger either.”

Zachary gapes at her for a moment. Then he bursts into laughter. “Oh, no. I still have enough time. If I ever decide to marry, that is.”

“You don’t want to?”

He sits down across from her, putting both arms on the table and clasping his hands. “Falling in love is something beautiful, no question. But some people are destined for more than raising a family and living a happy life.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Is that why you shagged Diane on several occasions?”

Zachary makes a choked sound and leans back. “Is that what she told you?”

“Well. Your reaction is enough of a confirmation.”

He clears his throat. Once, twice. Then he laughs. “Seems as if I let you think I only have pure intentions for everyone. As you can see, I’m only human myself.”

“But you never thought about it. Marrying someone.”

Out of scrutinizing eyes, he looks at her. “What exactly is this about? Are you seeing someone?”

She isn’t. She learned how to value herself, and in light of this, any man approaching her seemed unworthy. Any man did. She holds Zachary’s gaze.

“I am not.” She rolls her chair closer to her desk. “So, when can I reckon on receiving the renewed contract?”

None of her relatives ever call her. She never calls one of her relatives. Her mother is dead, and nobody cares. Sometimes she thinks she should regret scattering her ashes. That she might have needed them in her flat, a last reminder of her true roots.

Then she comes to the conclusion that in such a case, she would have thrown the ashes from her balcony sooner or later.

Her Trubbish lets herself be patted, at least. Her steps are still shaky from time to time, but she is getting used to it. It’s touching to see the friendship between her and Bounsweet. Over time, Oleana starts taking her Pokémon with her to the office. Lets them get to know Feebas. University is becoming more stressful after getting her bachelor’s degree, and she asks Zachary to have two of his employees feed and train her Pokémon. Just so they don’t get bored, she says.

Zachary agrees.

The champion cup draws closer once again. She never cared much about it, but this time, people are talking about a promising new trainer. A kid named Leon. Only seventeen, his first attempt at the gym challenge, and getting further than many who are much older than him ever do. She remembers that Zachary participated too, once upon a time, and at one of their dinners, she asks him about it.

He chuckles at her question. “My father was strictly against it, saying it would only lead me to having to work harder on passing my A Levels. He wasn’t wrong, but I enjoyed it nonetheless.”

“You came second in the champion cup, didn’t you?”

“Yes.” A thoughtful expression. “Mustard beat me. I doubt Leon will be able to win against a legend like Mustard.”

“Mustard,” Oleana repeats, one eyebrow raised.

“I admit, it’s silly. No one remembers his real name at this point, though.”

“Was that your dream? Being champion?” She winds noodles onto her fork. “Or were you convinced even back then that you are destined for something greater?”

Her tone was a bit sharp, but he grins nonetheless. “I can see why people dream of being champion, at least.”

Oleana doesn’t. Being champion means being a celebrity. That’s it. None of them ever did much for Galar. Not politically, not economically. An unnecessary attraction to take people’s minds off what would really be of importance. Mustard made more money in his life than she probably ever will, and she searches for justice in this fact.

“Would you like to be at the champion cup?” Zachary asks when their dessert is served.

She shifts in her seat and fixates him. “Why?”

“Because I was given two tickets for the front rows, and I would like you to come with me.”

The sentence hangs in the air. Oleana tries not to read too much into it. “I don’t have much interest in Pokémon battles, but I guess I wouldn’t be opposed to it.”

With a tiny laugh, Zachary guides a napkin to his lips. “You know, Oleana. Any kind of change starts with dreams. If it wasn’t for people with dreams, with the desire to change something and make the best out of whatever life handed to them, nothing would ever move. We’d be trapped in stagnation. It needs courage to leave behind your feeling of security and take the risk of starting something new.”

She looks at him, longer, longer, and eventually grimaces. “I’m not sure what you are trying to say.”

“That,” he taps against his temple, a gesture she still remembers too well, “hopes and dreams and wishes – they are a necessary part of humanity, and a fundamental part of why you are here right now.”

She nods, but she still doesn’t really understand. She thinks that maybe, she never will.

Leon wins.

All of Galar is in uproar. A kid that young winning the champion cup is unheard of. It only means that a kid will be in a position that is not even remotely of importance. Whenever Oleana sees Leon’s smile flaunting from outrageously huge posters, she rolls her eyes. She won’t admit any time soon that she got just a little bit excited during his battle. It doesn’t matter anyway.

Then, one afternoon, Zachary visits her in her office.

She is working on her final thesis – a theory on energy production through the usage of power spots – when he knocks and comes in. Her Trubbish is quick to greet him. The Pokémon is clearly doting on him. It’s cute to watch, but it doesn’t hide the deep lines having formed on Zachary’s forehead, sign of his distress.

“What’s wrong?” she therefore asks.

He pats Trubbish one last time and sits down across from her. “Do you have time? I’d need your advice.”

“Of course.” She shoves her books to the side and crosses her legs. He asks for her advice so seldomly that the request makes her heart pound. “I’m listening.”

Zachary leans forward, propping his elbows on his knees. “Since Mustard lost his position as champion, his wife, the current chairman, decided to leave the league with him. Consequently, the league made the offer to assign me the position as new chairman, seeing as I’m one of the founders of Wyndon.” A weak smile. “I’m not sure how to respond, though.”

She leans back. Nods slowly. “It would benefit Macro Cosmos greatly. Leads to more exposition, to more investors.”

“That may be. Albeit I will have to invest a lot of time into this position. Mustard’s wife was hardly seen outside league events.”

Oleana remembers his words. Being destined for something greater. She never knew whether to believe him. Then again, there is something about Zachary that she will always be in awe of, she thinks.

“You have a team of talented researches, I believe.”

“Yes. But what use is a company when its owner isn’t able to make the effort he should?”

A dry snort escapes her. “Zachary. We both know what a hard worker you are. Thinking in such terms will lead you nowhere.”

He exhales and hides his face behind his hands for a moment. “So you think that I should accept the offer?”

“I cannot make decisions in your stead. I certainly think you are capable of being the league’s chairman, at least. You might have to weigh the pros and the cons to come to an acceptable conclusion, I believe.” She takes one of her pens and taps the end against her desk. “It has a certain ring to it, you must admit. Chairman Rose.”

He laughs and looks into her eyes. “Sometimes I think I don’t even deserve you, Oleana.”

Her tapping loses its rhythm. She stares at her own hands, at her perfectly done nails. At the skirt she wears, more expensive than anything she could have afforded three years ago. It makes her feel like she should return his words. She doesn’t.

“You do,” she instead murmurs. The only response she receives is a warm smile.

Only two weeks later, after all legal proceedings, Mr. Rose has become Chairman Rose. His company is gaining traction – in part fault of new social media apps popping up left and right, dedicated groups of fans pushing not only Leon’s, but Zachary’s online presence too. It’s good, because Macro Cosmos needs investors. People who believe in them. They need Galar’s support in their final stages of finally breaking through. They need tangible business plans and a firm hand to guide them.

Evenings that were dedicated to dinners between Zachary and her become the past. He is busy with matters regarding the league. There is a lot to be done, he tells her. A lot of people to be reassessed. Because people need to trust him. As chairman, he isn’t able to do too much. But the board listens to his suggestions.

A young girl named Nessa becoming gym leader. When Oleana asks why, Zachary tells her that Nessa is to be trusted.

A young boy named Raihan becoming gym leader, too. When Oleana asks why, Zachary tells her that Raihan seems to be loyal when circumstances demand so.

Another girl in Stow-on-Side, a boy in Spikemuth, and they are young, she keeps thinking. Most of them are young. Most of them might not even know the meaning of loyalty. Soon, she stops thinking about the meaning of loyalty too. There is this red folder on her desk, a renewed contract sitting inside. She didn’t even read it through. She put her signature underneath it and continued with her studies. She has her own office. Those young gym leaders, they have their own stadiums. They go to dinners with Zachary. Maybe he sees something in them. Maybe such a thought reminds her of something.

One evening, he cancels their dinner. He never did so before. Never. Not once in four whole years. When she asks why, he reveals to her that he has an important dinner with Leon. He sounds apologetic.

There is potential in that boy. The whole of Galar knows as much.

She slams her phone against her table and goes downstairs to the laboratories.

Diane is still working on a report. She looks tired these days, the roots of her black hair having turned just slightly grey. Most of the time, Diane colors them quickly. Hides whatever needs to be hidden.

“If there was one thing you would define as our main problem right now,” Oleana asks, “what would that be?”

Slowly, Diane looks up from her papers. “Problem on?”

“Transforming energy produced by power spots into electricity.”

Diane pinches the bridge of her nose and drops her gaze again. “There is a possibility of that energy being too much for our machineries to handle. We’ll have to find another way to sufficiently process energy.”

Oleana curls her lips. “Machines that successfully transform power spot energy into electricity, then. That’s our goal.”

“We do have machines which can do that much.” Diane gives an exhausted sigh. “But it seems that we cannot contain produced electricity. 95% of what we process is turned into other forms of energy right away. We think – or rather, I think – that power spot energy is just too much for our machineries. Which means that we would need an absurd amount of power spot energy to efficiently gain electricity, or a possibility to somehow get ahold of most of those 95% of energy and still turn them into electricity.”

Oleana nods. Instead of having dinner with Zachary, she snatches a pile of books from Diane and starts skimming reports from the archives. Diane and she are the last persons in the office, and she only notices it’s the middle of the night when Diane taps her shoulder and points at the clock.

“You should head home.”

“I will stay here,” Oleana says.

Diane looks at her a little too long for her liking. Then she sighs. “You are a smart woman, Oleana. I’d hate to see you being dragged down by something trivial.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yeah,” Diane mumbles, and scratches the back of her head. “Me neither.”

Then Oleana is alone in the office, books in front of her and silence around her, and she takes the pile into her own office to join her Pokémon. All three of them are sleeping next to her as she keeps reading.


	4. Chapter 4

Her graduation is a quiet one. Zachary promises her dinner, but he’ll have to get up early the next day, and all they drink is a bottle of red wine. Not nearly enough to make Oleana drunk. Not anymore.

“Your work as chairman seems to be exhausting,” she notes.

He smiles at her. She searches for the warmth she could always count on finding in his expression, and she isn’t sure if it’s there anymore. The realization makes her shudder.

“It is. I enjoy it, though I have to admit that I am not used to keeping that many people happy.”

She quirks an eyebrow in question.

“Some of the gym leaders,” he explains, “are, well, not particularly fond of me, I’m afraid.”

“I can’t imagine anyone not being fond of you.”

When he smiles this time, it’s gentle. A smile she is used to. Relief floods her stomach. “Kind of you, dear. But I suppose I’m no longer simply Zachary Rose. I am Chairman Rose. As such, different expectations are set for me.”

Silence. She swirls her wine. She can’t admit to herself how different it has become to talk to him. She won’t acknowledge the distance settling between them. She doesn’t need him, but it doesn’t stop her from wanting him next to her. Even though it’s becoming more of a wish than a reality with every passing day.

“I’m sure Diane told you already. I’m working on a device which should make it possible to gain more electricity from power spot energy.”

That makes Zachary’s eyes flame up with interest. It’s a dragging topic, a frustrating one, and yet it draws the most words out of his mouth.

“No. She did not.” With newfound curiosity, Zachary looks at her. “I’m thinking of officially calling it Dynamax energy.”

“Dynamax,” Oleana repeats.

“Yes.” A pensive nod. “That’s what a professor I was working with proposed, too. In the Wild Area, Dynamaxing occurs regularly, as you might know. She has been studying the phenomenon for decades, and she thinks the sudden outburst of energy has to do with Dynamaxing.”

Oleana nips at her drink. It’s become harder to learn about him, about his past. It’s become harder to be the person closest to him, and she latches onto the opportunity like a drowning woman.

“Do I know her?” she asks.

A smile spreads over his face. “Professor Amy Magnolia. She was the one to propose that stadiums be built on top of power spots. Not to make for more exciting battles, but to protect the cities – she believed that Pokémon might automatically absorb Dynamax energy and neutralize it that way.”

Oleana narrows her eyes. “She seems to be an expert on this field.”

“She is. One of the very best.” With a quiet hum, Zachary casts down his eyes. “Yet she refuses to be involved with Macro Cosmos.”

“Why?”

Zachary waves the question off at first, but at her intense stare, he sighs. “Your guess is as good as mine. When I asked her to become part of my science division, she told me to explain my reasoning. Helping all of Galar gain independence. Making it a prosperous region in which no single person must suffer.” His smile is self-deprecating. “Maybe I seemed too much a dreamer to her. She laughed me off and withdrew into her own little laboratory.”

Not one single person Oleana has ever met had such pure intentions as Zachary has. Laughing him off would be outrageous, and she immediately feels a ball of rage rumoring in her stomach.

“Where is her laboratory?”

He looks at her. “Why?”

“I’m stuck on my research. I could use some help.”

“I doubt she would like to help you.”

Oleana holds his gaze steadily. “I’m used to people seeing less in me than there really is. Even if it’s just the tiniest bit of useful information, I could pour it into my research.”

He looks at her a little longer, than takes a sip of his wine. When he puts the glass down again, his lips are colored dark red. “Her laboratory is in Wedgehurst. If you really want to have the chance to talk to her, I would advise you to visit her home on Route 2. Don’t set too much hope on it, though. Amy has grown old, and it shows.”

Oleana clutches her wine glass. They need a breakthrough. She needs a breakthrough. After years of depending on him, she feels useless. And judging from the way he started looking at her, he must feel the same.

“How is it going with Leon?” she asks, trying to bury her thoughts.

Zachary leans back, the fire in his eyes being replaced by tiredness. “Leon. A talented kid, no doubt. A little bit of a bumblebrain, maybe.”

“A bumblebrain.”

“Yes. He’s still very much impulsive. No wonder at his young age. It’s just …”

“Tiring?” she offers.

A snort. “I never said that.”

Oleana tries to find fondness in his words, and when she can’t, a spark of relief zaps through her heart.

Pushing her sunglasses up, Oleana looks at the scenery in front of her. She has gotten used to Wyndon, its image created my human hands. Wedgehurst, however, is a town left to the whims of nature, and the routes out of the city follow the same principle. Her nose is running. An allergy, maybe, or she caught a cold walking in her short skirt and without a jacket on. She fishes a tissue out of her handbag and continues her way.

Her high heels get stuck in every tiny hole. She wills herself not to curse under her breath. It takes her almost an eternity to arrive at the pretty house in the middle of nowhere. Why any person would refuse a comfortable life in Wyndon to rot away from any trace of civilization instead, she will never understand.

She rings the doorbell.

Someone emerges from the house. A young woman with red hair. From the distance, Oleana can’t see her expression, but her voice carries puzzlement. “Um, hello?”

“Good day,” Oleana calls back. The front gate is still closed. It’s rather impolite, keeping such distance between them while they are talking, but she supposes good manners don’t carry much importance in an insignificant town like Wedgehurst. “My name is Oleana Spring. I am from Macro Cosmo’s science division. I was hoping to speak to Professor Amy Magnolia.”

“Oh.” The young woman fidgets on the spot. “Do you – is this – do you have an appointment?”

“An appointment,” Oleana repeats. “No. I don’t.”

“Then I … I’ll be right back.”

The front door shuts.

Oleana sighs and pushes her sunglasses down. The air is filled with the smell of hay. She blows into her tissue again and takes out her hand mirror. Everything seems to be in place, down to her red lipstick. Bright red. She doesn’t own any other colors than bright red.

It takes a minute or two until the young woman appears again, this time hurrying to the front gate. “I’m so sorry,” she says as she unlocks the gate. “Nan is a bit iffy about strangers. It’s nothing personal.”

Oleana acknowledges this with the quirk of an eyebrow. The woman’s cheeks turn pink. She is pretty, but everything about her screams unease. Oleana follows her inside.

It’s the kind of home Oleana never knew. With clean furniture, with rooms flooded by sunlight. The young woman guides her through the corridor and into the living room. The whole room seems antique, an old couch and wooden shelves and an even older woman looking at her out of cold green eyes.

“Miss Spring, was it? What brings you here?”

There’s a kind of rigor to her words that make Oleana freeze. She forces herself to stretch out her hand for the woman. “Yes, Oleana Spring from Macro Cosmo’s science division.”

With a snort, Magnolia takes her hand. “Already talking like I should know your name. Bold of you.”

Slowly, Oleana starts to understand why Zachary warned her.

“Sonia. Bring us some tea, will you?” Magnolia doesn’t even look at her granddaughter as she gives the order. Leaning on her crane, she nods towards the couch. “Please. Have a seat, Oleana Spring from Macro Cosmos.”

Ignoring the mocking undertone, Oleana smooths down her skirt and sits. Magnolia’s motions are slow. She doesn’t grimace, but it’s not hard to guess how painful her every move must be.

“Now then, what brings you here, Miss Spring?”

Oleana meets the piercing gaze without flinching. “My visit regards research I am currently conducting. To put it into context, I’m working on a device which would enable us to turn Dynamax energy into electricity. Chairman Rose told me –”

“Zachary,” Professor Magnolia croaks, sounding oddly gleeful. “That git. Haven’t heard from him in a while. Became the league’s chairman, didn’t he? Wouldn’t have thought he’d make it that far.”

Oleana furrows her brows. “Well, yes. Chairman Rose explained to me that you have gained significant knowledge in the field of Dynamax energy, which leads me to believe –”

“Dynamax energy,” Magnolia interrupts her. “Back then, I called it power spot energy.”

“Yes. We did too. But Chairman Rose told me that you –”

“Now, of course it would be him who invents a whole new name for something that already has a name. Like the wadded boy that he is. I think I remember him trying to push that name. Made him feel especially smart, I wager.”

Oleana takes a deep breath and doesn’t let her impatience get to her. Hands on her knees, she straightens her back, about to begin again. This time, Sonia interrupts her, a swaying tray balanced on her hand. She is taking tiny steps as she approaches.

“For Christ’s sake, Sonia.” Magnolia sighs loudly. “You are acting like you’ve never held a tray in your life.”

“Sorry.” Cheeks still pink, Sonia sets down the tray and pours them black tea. A little cup of milk next to their mugs. “If you need anything, then, uh, just call.”

Oleana watches her leave. She should be a granddaughter, not an unpaid waitress.

“Not like Zachary isn’t smart,” Magnolia goes on as if Sonia never entered the room. “Studied the Darkest Day like a madman back then. Still, I’m no fool.”

It’s not the first time she hears about that particular terminus, but it’s the first time she is interested in it. “The Darkest Day?”

“Oh dear,” Magnolia says, sending her a long look. “Don’t I know it. The same thing that happened to Diane, too. You let yourself be wrapped around his little finger.”

Oleana feels herself pale. “I assure you that this is not the case.”

“No? Is it not?” Magnolia chuckles. She doesn’t sound amused. “I’ve researched power spot energy since I was as young as you. With his twenty years, Zachary thought he could do to me what he did to so many others – make me believe his every word. He won’t solve no energy crisis by using a kind of energy none of us is even remotely starting to understand.”

Oleana takes her cup and takes a sip. It almost burns her tongue. “I’m not here to discuss your relationship with Zachary. I’m here to inquire you about your research.”

“Sweetheart. I’ve published countless books, but I bet you my arse that Zachary keeps not one of them close to him.”

She stares at her tea. At the science division, shelves are full of book. Some dating back so far that their information has become unusable.

And yet Magnolia is right.

“I’ll be generous,” Magnolia continues. “Give Sonia your email address, and I’ll send you everything I’ve got on it. Don’t think you’ll like it, though.”

She’s on the brink of asking why. Why Magnolia never joined Macro Cosmos. Why she seems to feel disdain towards Zachary. Why Oleana gets the sneaking suspicion that somehow, none of Magnolia’s thoughts are unjustified.

She keeps quiet.

“I reckon that’s how people like him just are.” Magnolia takes her own cup, her hands shaking slightly. “I’ve told him time and time again that he is no god. Power spot energy is nothing to be fooled around with. With that minimal research, there is no way it can be safely used. It took us thirty years to discover how Pokémon even absorb power spot energy and store it in their bodies. I might take us seventy more to know how to efficiently use it without risking a catastrophe.”

“You’re talking about him,” Oleana says, quietly, “as if he were a bad man.”

Magnolia laughs. “He knows people. He is empathetic enough to know their weaknesses, and clever enough to use them. He may not be a bad man, but he’s no good one either.” She fixes Oleana with a look. “Diane always called him a self-proclaimed messiah, and then she went ahead and let herself be used by him. Almost funny if it wasn’t so sad.”

It takes seconds. Then Oleana remembers where her loyalty really lies, and she puts her cup back on the table.

“Your dislike of Chairman Rose is none of my concern, though. There are matters that are more pressing.” She clears her throat, ignores how piercingly Magnolia looks at her. “I believe I will be able to recreate the mechanisms used by Pokémon to absorb Dynamax energy. I might even be able to translate this knowledge into an efficient storage device.”

“Good for you.”

“There is just one problem. No matter what I do, a device as small as I have in mind would not be able to handle that amount of energy, even though the tiniest of Pokémon can. I’m stuck on Pokémon’s ways of regulating absorbed energy.”

Magnolia shrugs and leans back. “I might have a solution.”

Nothing follows. Oleana stares, raising her eyebrows expectantly.

“I might tell you,” she continues, “as soon as you have read your way through my bibliography. We’ll need a basis to start from, don’t we?”

Oleana exhales soundly. “I am sorry to say, but your reason for your resistance is lost on me. You are hindering the whole of Galar from prospering.”

Her words leave a second of silence. Then a loud, barking laugh. Magnolia’s shoulders are hunched, her lab coat just a tad too large for a woman like her.

“You mean,” Magnolia says, “I am hindering your beloved Chairman from prospering.”

She has changed her ways, Oleana reminds herself. Still, she can’t hold herself back from standing up abruptly, her jaw set as she stares down at the woman.

“You are a bloody excuse for a scientist,” she says, quietly and coldly. “Good day, Professor Magnolia.”

Her high heels clack against the floor as she leaves. Once outside, she is greeted by sunlight – and the sight of a young woman bending down to pat her Yamper. Oleana’s jaw is still quivering. Still, she approaches Sonia. Only when her shadow falls over the Yamper, Sonia looks up at her.

“That was rather quick,” Sonia notes, standing up. “Or do you –”

Abruptly, Oleana thrusts a business card into Sonia’s hand. Sonia grabs onto it, staring at it with furrowed brows.

“Professor Magnolia informed me of the possibility to be sent her bibliography. My email address is noted on the card. I’ll request of you to make haste.”

Sonia gapes at her. “Those are more than 150 books and articles.”

“If possible, I would like you to insert the publication years into the file names.”

“Those are more than 150 files!”

Oleana keeps looking at her. “Also, there is more to Galar than a house in the middle of nowhere. A young woman such as yourself might deserve more than this.”

It only takes a second for Oleana to regret her words. Sonia keeps staring at her, even as Oleana turns away without another sound.

At first, she is skeptical. Magnolia’s first few articles, early eighties, are abysmally written and full of contradictions. It’s clear that she approaches the topic from a biological standpoint, though. Exactly what Oleana needs. The eighties are filled with descriptions of biological reactions, theses on how Pokémon might deal with Dynamax energy. There is a shift in the mid-nineties when Magnolia starts approaching the phenomenon from a different light; namely a historical one. Which is irritating at first. Mentions of a Darkest Day, again. Magnolia’s descriptions are vague. Further research doesn’t lead Oleana anywhere soon, and she continues reading, categorially excerpting anything of interest.

An inkling grows. The more she reads about it, the more noticeable it gets. A thought that settles in the back of her head, slowly threatening to take over. An idea that shakes her day after day. A suspicion that nags at her. One night, when she is alone in the science division, she looks at her excerpts – and it all comes crashing down.

The Darkest Day. Something being responsible for an uncontrollable amount of Dynamax energy. The possibility that this could be more than a mere legend. The possibility that gathering such an amount of raw energy in one place alone could lead to unspeakable outcomes.

With a shaking hand, Oleana removes her glasses and rubs her forehead.

She hides the printed articles inside her drawers. In her office, her Pokémon are watching her pace. She stops for a moment. Trubbish tilts her head, purring.

The memories are blurry, but she thinks Diane told her once or twice about how much importance Zachary attributes to the Darkest Day. If this is his inspiration, the outcome would be tragic. No matter what kind of machinery they were to build – an event such as the Darkest Day would be sure to affect all of Galar, if not even more regions.

So what are they doing, then? Finding a way to bring about doomsday?

It’s late, nighttime. She can’t call Zachary. She isn’t sure if she wants to. Instead, she takes a flying taxi to Wedgehurst and books into a hotel.

At eight in the morning, she rings Magnolia’s doorbell. Sonia answers, still bleary-eyed, and almost jumps when she sees Oleana.

“Miss – wait, Miss, um …”

“Spring. Is Magnolia available?”

“We are having breakfast, but …”

It takes a minute until Sonia has asked her grandmother to let Oleana in, and once she is inside, she sits down at the kitchen table, Magnolia across from her. The professor tells both her husband and Sonia to leave. Her smile is tight and knowing. It would irritate Oleana if it wasn’t for more pressing matters.

“I take it you arrived at some conclusions.” Magnolia offers her a piece of bread. Oleana refuses, her stomach churning.

“I think I did.”

Magnolia nods. She spreads butter on her bread. “To provide all of Galar solely with power spot energy – which Zachary is clearly trying to do – it would take approximately one quadrillion kilojoules of power spot energy. Active power spots produce up to one billion kilojoules before they dry up. Then again, there is hardly any research done on power spots other than those five studies I conducted. It may be that they produce more, or less, or hell – there might be a power spot somewhere in Galar which never runs dry.” Magnolia bites into her bread and chews. She continues talking around her food. “Zachary took that as a sign that even if we start depending on power spot energy, it won’t be enough. Well, not enough for the next thousand years or so, maybe. He’s also an idealist who believes that the way we produce electricity right now is neither beneficial for our society nor our economic and political future. We highly depend on neighbor regions to supplement electricity we are simply short of. He forgets that friendly relation with our neighboring regions aren’t a disadvantage per se.”

Oleana’s hands are planted on the table. She wills herself to take even breaths. The numbers are still ingrained in her brain. She can’t get them out of there.

“So why is Zachary so interested in the Darkest Day?” Magnolia goes on.

“Because,” Oleana whispers, “it would provide a near endless source of power spot energy.”

“Exactly.” Still chewing, Magnolia adjusts her glasses. “If he was able to build energy plants which can withstand such a massive amount of energy, that is. If he could find a way to store produced electricity – which in itself is a daft plan, because storing electricity so it can be used later on sounds easier than it really is. All in all, Zachary is a dreamer with too little knowledge of physics and enough money to bring doomsday upon us all.”

Oleana shivers.

“Luckily for us, he still didn’t have his breakthrough.”

There is an implication in her voice Oleana can’t miss. She looks at her perfectly done nails. “He still doesn’t know how to contain that much power spot energy. Our current position allows us to turn maximally thirty percent of contained power spot energy into electricity. The rest is lost, most of it turning to thermal energy which we are unable to store.”

Magnolia nods slowly. “You know, Zachary is quite the fool. Energy can never vanish. It can turn from one form into another, but it can’t appear out of nowhere and can’t vanish. So, if the Darkest Day provides an endless supply of power spot energy, where does that energy come from?”

“We can’t be sure.”

“Exactly. We can’t be sure. Maybe every living creature gets turned into pure energy.” A raspy laugh. “Wouldn’t that be a right eerie sight.”

Every profit warrants its sacrifices, Oleana notes, the truth dripping into her clenching chest and making it hard to breathe.

Magnolia’s house is next to a river, and Oleana sits down at its shore, watching water flow. She wonders about what-ifs. How much would have been different if Zachary had never seen her steal that lipstick. If her mother had never fallen into an abyss she never managed to escape from. If she herself had been wiser, graduating from school in time and somehow getting into a university on scholarships alone. Maybe then, nobody would have ever found a solution.

“Nan said you are welcome to come in anytime,” a voice sounds behind her.

Oleana shifts on the rock she sits on. For the first time since years, she doesn’t care if her clothes get dirtied. “Thank you for the offer.”

A second of silence. Sonia comes closer, crouching down next to her and staring at the flowing water too.

“So,” she says quietly. “I have no idea what you two are on about, but I guess it’s about that company in Wyndon.”

“Macro Cosmos.”

“Right. I also know that nan refused to go there, so why are you there?” It only takes a moment for her cheeks to turn red. “Not that something is wrong with that. It’s your personal choice, after all.”

Oleana looks at her. At freckles on pale cheeks and round green eyes. “Why are you still here? Your grandmother treats you like a servant.”

Sonia flinches. “That’s not true. That’s just how nan is. She is the stern one, and gramps is the soft one. Someone has to take the reins in a house, right?”

“What about your parents?”

Silence. Oleana knows compassion, and she also knows that compassion only got her hurt in the past. Hurting others isn’t quite as satisfying as she thought. It never was.

“My mum died,” Sonia says.

“Mine too.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for.”

Blindness is dangerous; blindness for yourself and the truths you don’t want to acknowledge. A blindness that is hard to admit to yourself. Oleana has a choice, and it’s becoming harder to make the right decision.

“You should go,” she says. “Make something of your life.”

Sonia snorts. “That’s easily said, isn’t it? I have no idea what to do. I don’t know what I am good at.”

“Then find out.”

A laugh, somehow stupefied, and then quietness.

At least Sonia has a choice. It’s more than Oleana ever got.

“I have to talk to you.”

A moment of hesitation. “Oleana, dear. You know I’d love to talk to you too, but I cannot miss the meetings with some of the gym leaders, even –”

“I have to talk to you,” Oleana repeats. “Tomorrow evening. Otherwise I’ll quit.”

Silence again. She checked their contract – only two months left. She has her degree. There is no obligation to stay in this company. Her body feels rigid. She doesn’t owe him anything, she keeps telling herself. What he did was his own choice, and now she is making hers.

“This seems to be urgent.” His laugh is a bit unsure. “In that case – yes. Tomorrow evening, six o’clock. There will be a flying taxi in front of your residential house.”

“A flying taxi?”

“Yes.” A rumbling sound. “I apologize, but I must move on. I’ll see you tomorrow, Oleana.”

She stares at her phone.

She rereads her summarizations. She has bought copies of Magnolia’s three most important books, and she pages through them again. The time won’t pass, and it takes an eternity until it is evening, the next day. The flying taxi takes her to Hammerlocke. The stadium, to be exact. Its gym leader awaits her, approaching her as soon as she is standing on her own feet again.

“Oleana, right?” He eyes her. Raihan, if she remembers correctly. He can’t be older than twenty, and she cocks her eyebrows.

“Yes. Mr. Raihan, I suppose.”

He waves her off. “Raihan. Please.” Tucking his hands into his pockets, her jerks his chin at the stadium. “Rose told me to come fetch you. Wouldn’t tell me what it was about. Guess it’s none of my business, eh?”

“It isn’t.”

Raihan looks at her for some more moments before turning to the stadium. “Too bad. Well, maybe I’ll just eavesdrop.”

“I strongly advise you to not do so.”

“Oh. Because you are here for very personal business no one is supposed to see?”

She doesn’t miss the implication. “Mr. Raihan. I’m not here to discuss such matters with you.”

“Cold.” He sends her a lazy smirk. She can’t believe someone like him was really assigned gym leader.

The stadium is nearly empty. She knows some of the staff; most of them are from Macro Cosmos, after all. A lift is located on the right-hand side of the room. Raihan gestures towards it.

“So, there’s my stop.” He pushes the lift button before she can do so. For a moment, nothing really happens, and Raihan gives her a little smile. “Rose has to authorize every single person who wants to get into this thing. Either he uses his fingerprint, or I guess he confirms their descend from wherever he is right now.”

She crosses her arms and waits.

“You know,” he goes on. “I’m wondering what your story is. He spoke highly of you.”

She doesn’t spare him a glance.

“Which means you might be a very important puppet to him.”

She snaps her head around. “What did you just say?”

“Oh.” His smirk grows broader. “You think the gym leaders are an exception? Nah, Oleana. I know a charmer when I see one.”

“What are you talking about?”

The lift gives a chime and opens. With a firm hand, Raihan gives her a little push until she is stumbling into the lift. He stays outside, still smirking at her.

“Guess we’ve both got debts we’ll never be able to repay, eh?” he says.

The doors close.

The tenth basement floor is already locked in. Oleana feels like she is suffocating. She clutches her handbag, stares at herself in the lift’s mirror. Perfect makeup, perfect hair, perfect skin. She wants to smash the image to pieces.

Another chime, and the doors open.

She can’t move for a moment. Then she forces herself to turn around. She never was in this building before. She didn’t even know it existed. A corridor, her heels clacking against the metallic floor. It’s a narrow space, making her whole skin crawl.

The corridor opens into a platform. The whole air is filled with buzzing energy. A gigantic field of machineries appears before her eyes. She recognizes them as prototypes developed by the science division. She scratches her arm, an uneasy feeling throbbing down to her stomach. In the middle of it all, an object she can’t make sense of soars against the dozens of humming posts. An enormous egg-shaped thing, red pulsing veins adorning its surface.

Every fiber of her being screams for her to run away.

“Oleana.”

She flinches so violently her handbag drops to the floor. Next to her, Zachary picks it up and hands it back to her. Her hands are shaking. She has to take a step away from him to gather her thoughts.

“This is a power plant,” she realizes.

“Ah. What a clever woman you are.” Zachary smiles at her, then takes a step towards the egg. There is a shimmer in his eyes that makes her shudder. “Yes. It will only take some minor adjustments for it to finally start operating.”

“Zachary.” Her voice is quivering. “You can’t do that. Gathering that much energy in one single place will cause the Darkest Day to happen again. We cannot know the outcome of such an event. It may end in tragedy.”

“Is that what Professor Magnolia told you?”

Oleana stares at him. She can’t move from the spot. Her instincts whisper for her not to come closer, and she can’t understand why he seems almost drawn to the egg.

“Yes. I thought so.” He sighs. The disappointment in his expression hurts. “I was hoping you would see through it. That it would be one last step to reach a first milestone in your studies.”

“See through it,” she repeats breathlessly.

He gestures at the egg. “This, my dear, is something very precious. Inside this egg lies Eternatus.”

Confused, she shakes her head.

“Professor Magnolia failed to mention this Pokémon because she doesn’t know about it. This is the Pokémon that caused the Darkest Day. The Pokémon which brought Dynamax energy to our planet. An extraterritorial being able to transform any kind of energy into Dynamax energy. The Pokémon my father studied, and before him his father, and before him his father. Documents no one but the Rose family has access to. Because distributing them would be too dangerous.”

She still tries to understand. She can’t.

“This Pokémon,” Zachary says, “is our chance to gain an endless source of energy. Do you understand? As long as it is under our control, we will never run out of Dynamax energy. Galar will become the richest region in the whole world, providing any region which is in need of such with electricity. No pollution. No need for anything other than power plants such as this one. No chemical waste. Nothing.”

“We still don’t know,” she manages to croak. “We still don’t know how to turn Dynamax energy into electricity.”

“You aren’t wrong.” He steps closer to her again. She wants to back away, but she is frozen in place. A shudder goes through her when he takes both her hands, fingers curling around hers. The smile on his face is warm and terrifying. “That’s where you come into play. I knew you would be capable of reaching great heights. You said you won’t need long until you’ve cracked that last problem, didn’t you?”

She opens her mouth. Closes it.

“Oleana. I know you are scared. But think. You are a smart woman, after all.” He lifts their joined hands, soft eyes locking with hers. “Do you really believe I would risk an apocalypse? If all I want is for Galar to prosper, do you believe I would be willing to put it in danger?”

She keeps staring. Feels tears well in her eyes.

“Oleana, my darling.” His voice is sweet and lulling and she has never felt so torn, so utterly hopeless. “I just revealed a secret to you that I never told anyone. Not Diane, not Professor Magnolia. Not anyone.” Teal eyes she gets lost in, loses herself in. “Do you trust me as much as I trust you?”

Her head is swirling, because there he was, six years ago, offering her an opportunity she always dreamt of. Granting her a whole new life. She tries to be rational, but her heart is beating so fast it hurts, and the way he looks at her – it reminds her of a time when he was everything there was to her life, and maybe it always stayed the same. She needed no one but him. She needs no one but him.

She trusts no one but him.

“Yes,” she whispers.

He smiles.

It works.

The last piece was a Wishing Star. The idea came to her as she was reading Magnolia’s reports. A catalysator of sorts. The essence of Wishing Stars is perfect – energy pressed into material that has no name yet, and she calls it Dynamax substance. It’s strange to think that maybe, she is shaping a whole scientific field with her work.

Still, one night, she sits in the laboratory, a prototype of her Dynamax band in her hand. Theoretically, it works. The thought of practicability makes her head throb with pain. Therefore, she waits for Diane to be the last one left in the division and asks her to join her in the laboratory.

“I cracked it,” Oleana says, tossing the Dynamax band onto the table until it comes to a clattering halt in front of Diane. “The last problem.”

Diane stares at the band. Her hair is grey, her lips are pale. “What am I looking at?”

“A device which transforms Dynamax energy into usable energy. Be it electricity or energy which could theoretically be injected into any Pokémon.”

Slowly, Diane looks up. “How?”

“By opening Wishing Stars and using its substance as a catalysator. It’s able to absorb energy and be linked to electronic advices. For whatever reason, the substance enables devices to obtain electric power. Hardly any joule of energy is lost in translation. The exact processes are unclear to me as of yet. I suppose that should be our next focus of research.”

“Bloody fuck,” Diane says. “You did it.”

“I’m thinking of destroying it.”

Flabbergasted, Diane stares at her. “Excuse me?”

With trembling hands, Oleana sits down. “If I decide to make this discovery known to Zachary, he will be able to execute his plans. If I don’t make it known, nothing will change. Which means – whatever happens, be it tragedy, prosperity, or standstill – it will be on my hands.”

Diane looks at the Dynamax band. Then at Oleana again. “You are doubting him.”

“I want to trust him. He has done so much for me. I have to trust him.”

Diane rubs her forehead. “Whatever decision you make, I will support you. You are a smart woman, Oleana. I’m sure you can make the right decision.”

“But you must have an opinion. Do you trust him? Do you think what he is doing is right?”

A laugh. It sounds bitter. “I stopped researching the Darkest Day years ago to avoid exactly this question.”

Oleana feels like crying.

She hardly ever went into Zachary’s office. There was no need to, because he used to visit her often enough, be it in her flat or at her own office. Her heart is pounding when she knocks. The Dynamax band is hidden away in her office, a lockable drawer keeping it away from curious eyes.

“Come in,” Zachary calls.

She does. His office is similar to hers. The thought that he gave her, just another employee in his company, such a huge office makes her fingers twitch in sudden unease. He is sitting at his desk, and when their eyes meet, his whole face lights up.

“Oleana. I’ve wanted to talk to you today. There is some big news.”

She wants to tell him that it is time to part ways, because she thinks it is. The words won’t come out, though. Instead, she hesitantly sits down across from him. He has grown older, she starts to notice. He has changed his hair, and the first few wrinkles have formed around his eyes, and he has developed the habit of tugging at a strand of hair whenever his smile is especially warm.

She hates that she wonders what it would feel like, tugging at his hair in his stead.

“Big news,” she says.

“Yes.” He clears his throat. “Seeing as the amount of work I’m dealing with is becoming so vast, I’d like to employ a secretary.”

She quirks an eyebrow. “Well, yes. Then do so.”

“In this sense, I wanted to ask you if you’d like to be the woman by my side.”

His words were soft and drench the whole room in silence. Her hands in her lap are shaking. She isn’t sure what to believe. Because he worded it in a way that can’t be overlooked. Because he looks at her like there is no one he depends on more than her. His secretary. His personal secretary. His partner. His right-hand woman. His confidante. The person he trusts the most. The only one able to be so close to him.

No one else will ever be as close to him as her. That can’t be without meaning.

It can’t.

“I,” she croaks, “I managed to do it. I managed to build a device that will make your dreams become reality. That will make Galar prosper. Just as you envision it.”

He stares at her. “Oleana …”

“I know how to do it. That last secret Diane couldn’t crack – I did.”

A second of surprise. A disbelieving laugh. And then, Zachary stands up, wraps his arms around her, lifts her up, carries her through the room. She gives a sound and clutches onto him. Her feet don’t touch the floor anymore. He is laughing, kissing her cheek, holding her so close she feels his rapidly beating heart against hers.

“I knew it,” he says. “I knew you are an exceptional woman. I knew it was destiny to meet you. A woman like you. Only you.”

She wraps her arms around his neck and hides her face, trying to ignore any dark thought in the back of her mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My knowledge of physics is non-existent by now, so I hope what I wrote about energy production isn't utter nonsense.


	5. Chapter 5

“Maintaining your public image is an important part of your work.”

“It’s not as if I don’t enjoy it.” Zachary sighs. “I would just rather spend my time in a more, well, relaxed manner.”

“I do understand. Still, if you don’t make haste, we will be twenty minutes late.”

He adjusts his tie and follows her through the door. “I know, dear. Without you, I would be lost.”

“Oleana.”

He looks at her, confused.

“Neither dear nor darling. I am your official secretary, not your secret lover.” She holds the door of the flying taxi open for him. “And yes. You would be absolutely lost without me, Chairman Rose.”

Sending her an amused glance, he climbs in.

An orphanage. Oleana has requested three photographers. Sometimes it’s stressful. When Diane retired, Oleana was appointed head of the science division. She hardly has any time to do research these days. There isn’t much research left to be done, anyway.

She doesn’t think about it. About how little time she has left to study the phenomenon of Dynamx energy, to find facts which might have been unknown to her before. Because that’s just how it is, being the secretary of such an important man. It’s nothing surprising. It’s nothing worth wasting any more thoughts on.

Circhester’s temperatures immediately bite on her skin. The orphanage is an insignificant building, reminding her of her old school. There is a whole ceremony planned for Zachary, children having prepared cute, insignificant speeches for him. She stays on the sidelines, replying to emails from business partners and entering meetings into his calendar. Telling the photographers to only catch Zachary in the best lighting possible.

There is no time to think about those children. Without home, without parents. Without hope. Some of them as young as three, some of them fourteen or older. She remembers how it feels, thinking she is all alone in this world.

The ceremony takes four hours. Oleana orders the photographers to send all pictures directly to Macro Cosmos’s social media team. People are careless, she’s learned. It takes work to present a certain image of someone. Even more so to preserve it. Unbelievably much so to obscure any flaw there is.

When she is ready to leave, she notices Zachary talking to a young boy with white hair and fair skin. Someone who has lost it all. Someone who has nothing left. Inside her chest, a feeling stirs, making her walk towards them with quick steps.

“Chairman Rose,” she says from a distance. “You have a meeting in two hours. We’d better go.”

From his crouched down position, Zachary smiles at her. “Ah, Oleana. May I introduce you to Bede?”

That boy can’t be much older than ten. He is clutching a Gyarados plushie, hiding half his face behind it. Even though hair falls over his forehead and partly conceals his eyes, they are drenched in distrust. He stares at Oleana as if she is about to steal his plushie, his shoulders hunched.

“Good day to you, Bede.” She nods at the entrance door. “Now, Chairman Rose. If you may …”

“One moment.” Zachary smiles at the boy. That warm, soft smile she first saw years ago. “Do you have a Pokémon, Bede?”

A shake of his head.

“Lucky for you, I’ve got a little gift for you.” He pulls a Poké ball out of his pocket and hands it to Bede. The boy stares at it, eyes growing wide. “This is a Hatenna. It will help you keep your emotions in check.”

Without a word, Bede looks up at him. His eyes are shining with silent wonder.

“I know how hard it can be. Letting others in.” Still smiling, Zachary pats Bede’s shoulder. “But remember that there are people you can trust. You just have to find them. Or they have to find you.”

“Chairman,” Oleana presses, her blood turning cold.

“Right, right.” With a laugh, Zachary ruffles the boy’s hair and stands up. “I promise I’ll visit you again, Bede.”

For a while, Oleana can hold herself back. But there is no one to blame but herself. She digs her nails into her palms. In their flying taxi, she finally finds the willpower to speak up.

“You just gave a kid you don’t remotely know a Pokémon of yours.”

“A Hatenna. I watched him interact with the other kids. He’s oftentimes impulsive. His anger is understandable, but if he wants something out of life, he will have to get a grip on his emotions.”

“But why? Why give him a Pokémon at all?”

Zachary smiles. “I saw potential in him.”

Everything inside her turns cold and dead. A young orphan who has nothing, who is lost, who clutches onto anything he can grasp. Young, impressionable, she wants to barf, she can’t think about it, about thoughts she buried, thoughts she stuffed into a box and locked away forever, and how dare he, how dare he –

“Just you see.” His hand above hers. She wants to retract hers, wants to wash him off her, wash him off her skin and brain and eyes. “People like him know loyalty. Albeit no one will ever reach your level.”

She wants to wipe him from her life, and she wants him so much it hurts.

Leon has grown into an important figure. At least now, Oleana is responsible for organizing their meetings. As many of them as she deems necessary, whenever she deems appropriate. Still, the thought won’t leave her head. Because it was a little boy – just a little boy. A little boy with potential. A little boy that one day could prove to be more useful than her, with more brains and more to offer, with more ideas, less damaged and broken than her. Because a tiny voice keeps whispering that she will never be enough, has never been enough. That any decision Zachary made was motivated by convenience.

It's late evening. He’s still in his office. She has long since stopped thinking of rationality. There is no use anymore, and she enters his office without knocking. He acknowledges her with a quick glance.

“Oleana, dear. What brings you here?”

She closes the door behind her. Looks at the scenery opening up behind Zachary. An image of tall buildings and fading sunlight. Late evening sun glisters in his hair. She feels her fingers cramp as she steps closer. Books are opened in front of him, and she closes them one by one. One of them is about the Darkest Day. She has long since stopped feeling anger. The only thing left is doubts eating away at her, bit by bit.

All the while, Zachary has been watching her. Their eyes meet, and amusement glistens in teal irises.

“I’m just making sure you are not overworking yourself, Zachary.” Her high heels clack as she rounds the table, hands propped on it as she leans back.

He is about to stand up. She stops him by raising her leg, high heel boring into the seating surface of his chair. A second passes by, something shifting in his eyes. It makes her angry. It makes her blood boil. It makes her hands clench to fists, and she lets her leg sink to the floor again, leaning forward to grab his tie instead. He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t move away. The shimmer of patience in his eyes pisses her off.

Still, there is one thing no one else can give him, she thinks. Not a kid like Bede, and not a naïve git like Leon. So she tugs at his tie. Guides him forward, his chair rolling closer and closer, until she can sit on the table without letting go of him, until she can look down on him, until her fingers can run through his hair and hold him in place.

“You seem aggravated, darling.”

“Do I?” She shifts until she finds a comfortable position, shivering at the way his fingers dance over her thigh. “You, on the other hand, seem oddly calm.”

He laughs. Their eyes stay locked as he leans down, pressing a kiss against her inner thigh. She releases a shaky breath. “Anything but, my darling,” he mumbles as he trails lower, to her knee, back up again. Something inside her melts, weakens, break down, and she fights for control as she grabs his hair and yanks his head up.

“Then make yourself useful,” she whispers. “We don’t have all day.”

There’s an odd satisfaction to having him at her mercy, to having him kiss her and taste her until she is throwing her head back. Praising him when she wants to, and digging her nails into his scalp, moving and angling his head as she sees fit. His kisses are as soft as his words, and it makes her so goddamn angry and makes her blood sing and makes her chest clench.

Books and papers clatter to the floor when she falls back, arms wrapped around his neck and legs nudging his hips forward. Lips on her skin, and every bit of control is gone. Melting into nothingness underneath his hands. Surrendering, finally, because no matter what she does, she always surrenders. Her heart is filled with him, filled in a way that rips her apart. There is nothing else to her than him, and she wails and cries his name, their breaths mingling into one and their lips brushing like the sweetest of touches. His skin is warm and it’s Zachary she is touching, Zachary, Zachary being one with her and muttering her name over and over. She is falling, crashing down, landing so violently everything shatters, shatters time and time again until she is drowning.

And drowning she is.

“Listen to me, darling.” He pulls her close, tiredness making her bones weak. “There will never be someone who can replace you. No one can be like you. No one is suited for this company. For me. You are the best thing that could have happened to me.”

She gets lost in his words, pushes thoughts aside. Melts in his warmth and wishes she would never come back.

From afar, Oleana watches their interactions. Every six months. It’s every six months that Zachary visits the orphanage. Ripening it, building it up like a personal project. Tending to it carefully. Sending him just the tiniest bit of money. No skin off Zachary’s nose, after all. She sees the spark in Bede’s eyes. Sees the blooming devotion. Because he has nothing, and someday, Zachary will be all there is to him.

They talk, mostly, and Oleana sits at the sidelines, answering emails and speaking with business partners over the phone. Bede doesn’t usually talk to her. All they send each other are cold looks. Something about that boy pisses her off, about his unusually white hair and his unusually lilac eyes. Something about him is surreally pretty, and she hates herself for the thought alone.

On their way to Wyndon, Galar turning to a hazy image underneath them as the Corviknight carries them, she puts her phone away and directs a glance at Zachary.

“Do you want children?”

His first reaction is surprise. “Children?”

“Well. You told me once that marriage is not something you would consider, but the more I watch you and Bede, the more I am starting to think there might be strong fatherly feelings involved.”

He barks out a laugh. “Children. Heavens, no. I don’t want children.”

It’s the answer she expected. The answer she feared. She looks out of the window, at clouds surrounding them.

“All I’m seeing in Bede is a young boy ready to realize his potential.”

“I never understood what exactly you mean,” she confesses. “Which kind of potential?”

“The potential,” a hand on her thigh, “to aid us in our plans.”

Your plans, she wants to correct him. She doesn’t say it aloud. The hand on her thigh is burning, making her hair stand on end. Making her heart beat in a familiar rhythm.

“Do you want children?” he asks.

Her heart keeps pounding. She turns to look at him. Seconds, their eyes locking, her lips twitching. The answer should be clear, or not. At least it should be hers.

“No,” she answers.

“I thought so.” She is granted a smile. “I was certain since I first saw you. That you are destined for something greater, too. That you are someone truly special. Back then, you wouldn’t have understood. But now, as the stunning, beautiful woman that you have become …” He draws his hand back. “You understand now. Don’t you?”

“Yes.”

She really does, and it doesn’t help.

“I found twenty-five of them.”

Bede said it soberly. Whenever he speaks to her, haughtiness colors his eyes. Oleana doesn’t care too much, because at least she is the only one in contact with him for now. Zachary doesn’t have the time. He shouldn’t have the time. Not for a sixteen-year-old brat like this one who just about started his gym challenge. No knowledge of the world or the people around him, nor any interest in anything but himself.

“Thank you for your hard work.” The words feel dishonest on her tongue. She doesn’t care.

Bede doesn’t even look at her as he hands her a bag full of Wishing Stars. Not too difficult to come by if one looks hard enough. Still – it’s smart. Because not once did Bede ask about the reason, and not once did he express any kind of doubt, and it makes her finger tremble and her thoughts race and she smothers it all.

“I want to speak with Rose.”

Oleana raises her eyebrows. A quiet day in Turffield, grass swaying in the breeze.

“Chairman Rose,” she corrects, “is a busy man, Bede.”

“Yeah. I know. But I’m getting tired of seeing your face.”

She stares at him. “Pardon?”

With a huff, Bede crosses his arms and looks away. “Whatever. Tell him that I won’t get him any more Wishing Stars if he doesn’t have it in him to at least talk to me once in a while.”

“I hope you understand what outrageous kind of demand you are expressing. Chairman Rose cannot easily make time to meet individuals at his own leisure.”

Bede gives her a cold look. “Either arrange something, or you can find someone else to do that work for you.”

As soon as he is gone, Oleana sits down on a bench and sighs deeply. She fishes her phone out of her handbag, ignores the numerous unanswered emails waiting for her, and dials Zachary’s number. He picks up after the third ring.

“Chairman Rose,” she says. “Although Bede has provided me with more Wishing Stars, he refuses to collect more until you can arrange a meeting with him.”

A deep laugh at the other end. “Just as I told you. That boy is full of potential.”

She rubs her forehead. “He told me, and I quote, he is tired of seeing my face.”

A second of silence. Then even louder laughter. “Oh, darling. He might still have a lot to learn.”

“I don’t understand, though.” She looks around, making sure no one is listening to her. It’s a beautiful day. She shivers. “Choosing someone as impulsive as him. It endangers your whole operation. There is no saying what he is capable of.”

“Oleana. Let me ask you something. Did he even once inquire you about the reason he is collecting Wishing Stars?”

She knows the answer. Yet she needs seconds to utter it. “No.”

“You see. He is able to build trust. A kind of trust that is not easily broken. He believes in me, so he sees no reason in bringing anything he does for me into question.”

No reply passes her lips.

“I will meet him. Could you keep one hour or two free in the next few days?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you, Oleana.”

She stares at her phone. Macro Cosmos has enough employees. So many that the amount of Wishing Stars gathered by Bede in one week could be increased at least tenfold. Yet Zachary told her they need to stay under the radar.

Why, she asked.

Because they wouldn’t understand. Because she does, but no one else would. Because his plans require a kind of wisdom average people oftentimes don’t possess. She shouldn’t worry. She can trust him.

She does trust him.

She has no choice but to trust him.

Her Trubbish has grown into a Garbodor. Her Dynamax band works, having turned her Pokémon into a gigantic, grotesque version of itself. Yet she loses. Yet those three kids in front of her stare at her like a monster. She loses all hope, loses herself, and calls her Pokémon back.

Her long nails dig into her palms. There is nothing left to do but give her whole self to the person she depended on for years and years.

“Try all you want,” she says. “Do as you wish. You won’t be able to stop his plan.”

She believes so. She truly believes Zachary will succeed. What the outcome will be, she isn’t sure anymore.

Pitying eyes. She wants to hide away from them. When she turns around, Wyndon is displayed before her, endless lights illuminating the night.

At the end, they lose, and they lose everything.

Eternatus is defeated, and Leon is too. It’s almost ironic. Her old office looks just like it always did. Tidy, every document in place. Her six Pokémon hidden away in their balls. She tries to remember how much time she spent with them. Almost none. The life she led didn’t allow for more. Zachary’s office is empty, too. His windows offer another view of Wyndon. Early morning. The sun is rising, and she feels shattered and lost.

One of the now well-known twins, Victor, became champion. Zachary Rose vanished and left no note, no sign of life. Because that’s just what an overthrown messiah does – wither in their shame.

Oleana is also ashamed. Ashamed that she still wishes he was by her side. Because now, she is truly alone, in a building that is abandoned, nothing but a breathtaking view in front of her.

She calls Leon.

“Didn’t expect to hear from you,” he says.

“Apologies for going against expectations, then.” She hesitates so long that he speaks up again.

“Is it because you finally want to turn Rose in?”

She gives a sound between amusement and scorn. “Never in my life.”

“Because you owe him, eh?”

Silence.

“Right. Why did you call then? You certainly noticed that I am no longer champion.”

“Because,” she croaks, “Macro Cosmos no longer exists. Because there is nothing left, and I …”

Silence again. She presses her hand against her eyes. Wills herself to stay strong. Her life has been smashed into pieces, but she still has got herself left.

“And you want me to, what? Buy it?” Leon laughs. It sounds a bit bitter.

“Yes.”

A pause. Then a disbelieving snort. “You want me to buy Macro Cosmos?”

“Give me 200.000 Poké dollars, and the building is yours.”

“That’s … For a whole building, are you – you are joking.”

“Then give me 500.000.” Her hands are shaking. “Give me any amount you want.” She has to sit down, the same chair Zachary used to sit on, used to pull her on his lap on, used to kiss her neck on, and she jumps up again. “Just take it. Take it away from me. I don’t want anything of this. I don’t want it.”

Leon seems to hesitate for a moment. “I have no ideas about companies, but won’t you have to deal with some legal stuff?”

“Zachary left me with a team of the best attorneys in Galar. I will be fine.”

“That …” He sighs. “What would I do with a whole building?”

“I don’t know. Make something of your life. Do it without depending on anyone else but yourself.”

Her voice is trembling. She presses a hand against her mouth, wipes over her lips. Bright red stains are left on her skin.

“What will you do?”

She keeps staring at her hand.

“Try to make something of my life,” she manages.

Hands clasped, she stands at the docks of Motostoke, mourning a past she never experienced. Ashes are long gone, and decisions were made. She doesn’t know if she regrets them.

“Oleana?”

She turns her head at the sound of a familiar voice. It’s Sonia Magnolia of all people, a bag in one of her hands. Sunglasses pushed up, Sonia approaches her, eyes wide with surprise.

“I thought you must have been arrested or something.” Sonia blushes immediately. “Sorry. Wow. That was uncalled for.”

“No.” Oleana sighs. “Zachary made sure that I wouldn’t be affected by the events. At least he did that much for me.”

“Zachary?”

Oleana almost smiles. “Chairman Rose.”

“Oh.”

She looks pretty, Oleana thinks. She looks like someone Oleana could have been, a long time ago. If she had given less of a shite about appearance and more about a future. If she had known that trusting herself is better than trusting a man weaving together sweet words, drenching them in honey.

“Uh, so,” Sonia continues. “You can say no, if you want to. But if you feel like it – want to have a cup of coffee?”

Oleana stares at unmoving water. “Yes. I know a place.”

That place she knows is closed. No wonder, seeing as the owner was a bitch back then and probably never changed. It’s been twelve years, Oleana reminds herself. Twelve whole years. They choose another café instead, close to the northern Pokémon Center.

“Why are you in Motostoke?” Sonia asks when their coffees are put in front of them. “I mean – you were looking pretty pensive. I was almost afraid of disturbing you. Not that there’s anything wrong with –”

“I scattered my mother’s ashes there some years ago.”

“Oh.”

Oleana stirs her coffee. She feels tired, so incredibly tired.

“She was a terrible mother. Didn’t give a bloody fuck about me. Yet, somehow, I think I love her. I think I truly miss her. It’s daft, isn’t it?”

Sonia clears her throat. “Of course you miss her. She was your mother, after all.”

“What kind of bloody difference does it make? She’s a terrible person, no matter how you put it.”

With an unsure expression, Sonia shrugs and starts gesticulating. “Well, you know when two persons are inevitably connected?” She illustrates her words by weaving her fingers together. “There is some level of deeper connection that can’t be erased. I don’t know if that is love, but it’s at least what makes us human, you know? Depending on each other to some extent.”

Oleana stares at her, then snorts. “You are clearly no social scientist.”

Pouting, Sonia drops her hands to her lap. “Sorry, I guess.”

A sip of her coffee. It’s too bitter.

“I truly tried to believe in him. I put my all into him, my whole life. I devoted myself to him. I feel like a bloody fool. And yet – I still love him. After all he’s done, I still love him.”

Silence again. The room is full of chattering people. It’s a sunny day outside. Oleana’s nails are short and colorless. The lipsticks she buys aren’t as expensive as they used to be. It doesn’t make that much of a difference.

“I wish I could tell you something useful,” Sonia eventually mumbles.

“You don’t have to.”

“What will you do now? Search for a job?”

Oleana shrugs. “I guess. I have no choice in this respect, I reckon.”

“You know,” Sonia says, sheepishly staring down at her coffee. “I’m looking into Dynamax energy right now. I’m a biologist, just like Hop and my assistant are, so I’m pretty much lost in the physics department. I’d need an expert to discuss some of my future studies with me and analyze them correctly.”

Oleana freezes. She isn’t sure if this is another chance, or if she is bringing ruin over yet another person.

“So, if you want to …”

“Hop won’t be very excited about this prospect.”

Sonia waves her off. “Hop always sees the good in people.”

“I don’t know how much good is left in me.”

At that, Sonia grins. “Oh, more than enough, I wager.”

Sunshine outside. Even despite its filth and dirt, Motostoke can be a beautiful place if seen from the right angle.

“Thank you,” Oleana whispers.


End file.
